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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24659074">Swiss Army Knife, Duct Tape, Guide Dog</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrailleErin/pseuds/BrailleErin'>BrailleErin</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Blind MacGyver fics [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>MacGyver (TV 1985)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Blind MacGyver, Blindness, Guide Dogs, Rescue, Spy - Freeform, Wilderness, phoenix foundation</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 04:20:18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>39,128</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24659074</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrailleErin/pseuds/BrailleErin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to Swiss Army Knife, Duct Tape, White Cane (published for now on FFN). MacGyver is back in the States with new adventures ahead: training with a guide dog and rescuing a top-level diplomat from one of the biggest pristine wilderness areas in the Lower 48. Again, this is Original MacGyver (1985) and the story begins in September of 1988.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Blind MacGyver fics [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1782892</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I’m not much of a dog guy, Pete,” MacGyver objected. </p><p>“I think it would be a good idea for you to look into it,” Pete insisted. </p><p>“I don’t think so,” said MacGyver with a note of finality. </p><p>***</p><p>Which of course was why, three weeks later, Mac found himself stepping off the bus in a small town in upstate New York where the training center was located. Apprehension bit at the inside of his gut. He wondered what he was doing here and briefly considered turning around and re-boarding the greyhound bus. </p><p>Instead, he swept the ground ahead of him with his cane, found the curb, crossed the grass verge and then found a sidewalk. He hitched his duffel higher on his shoulder and turned in a half circle to try and get a sense of his surroundings. </p><p>The diesel fumes from the bus obscured any smells there might have been. Through the milky scars that covered his corneas, he could see that the sun shone, but any other details were washed out by the glare. A few cars passed lazily on the road behind the bus, but it didn’t seem particularly busy. </p><p>One other passenger disembarked from the bus, then its door sighed shut and with a whoosh of brakes and a vile cloud of exhaust, it pulled away from the curb and ground its way down the road and out of earshot.</p><p>As soon as it left, the normal world of sounds and smells resumed around MacGyver. Somewhere to his right a bird chirped. The grass had been rained on recently and still retained the freshness. Echoes bounced off a building on his right as well. </p><p>He was supposed to be met by someone from the training school, but so far no one had approached him saying his name. The other bus passenger had not walked away either, as far as he could tell, but was still standing on the grass near him.</p><p>“Excuse me?” the voice was male, young and nervous. “Is anyone there?”</p><p>Mac raised his eyebrows. The kid must also be blind.</p><p>“Just me,” he said with a wry grin. “Name’s MacGyver.”</p><p>“Hi Mr. MacGyver,” said the boy with evident relief at not being alone. He walked toward Mac and his own cane tapped on the sidewalk. “I’m going to the guide dog school and someone was supposed to meet the bus but no one is here.”</p><p>“Same here,” said Mac. </p><p>“You’re going to the guide dog school too? You’re blind?” asked the boy.</p><p>“Yeah,” said Mac with a laugh, giving his own cane a couple of taps. “There’s a joke in there somewhere, isn’t there? About two blind guys finding each other?”</p><p>“I guess so,” agreed the boy, his voice still tight with worry.</p><p>“Hey, relax,” soothed Mac. “They’re probably just running a few minutes late. What’s your name, anyway?”</p><p>“Alex. Alex Green,” said the boy, sighing out some of his tension through his nose.</p><p>“Alex,” said Mac, “this your first time traveling alone?”</p><p>“Does it show?” asked Alex with obvious disappointment. </p><p>“Oh, I dunno,” said Mac. “How old are you anyway?”</p><p>“I’m nineteen,” said Alex, to Mac’s surprise. He’d guessed the kid was several years younger. He realized the kid’s voice was high up, putting his height somewhere near Mac’s own six-foot-one.</p><p>“Nineteen and you’ve never traveled alone?” asked Mac incredulously. </p><p>“My parents are… protective,” stammered Alex. “They think a guide dog will make it… safer for me. Why are you getting a dog?”</p><p>Mac hesitated. To be honest, he still wasn’t sure why he was here. “My boss thinks it’s a good idea, I guess.”</p><p>Alex laughed. “It doesn’t stop with parents, I guess.”</p><p>Mac laughed too. “No, I guess it doesn’t. But my boss is also going blind and I trust him.” That was it in a nutshell, really. He trusted Pete. And if Pete thought he needed a dog, well, he’d give it a try. </p><p>“Do you like dogs?” asked Alex. </p><p>“Not really,” admitted Mac. </p><p>“I’m scared of them,” said Alex sheepishly. “They always seem to bark out of nowhere.”</p><p>“Have you always been blind?” asked Mac curiously. </p><p>“Yeah. I have ROP,” explained Alex. </p><p>“ROP? What’s that?” asked Mac. </p><p>“Oh, Retinopathy of Prematurity, said Alex. “I was born early. Were you always blind?”</p><p>“No, I was blinded only about six months ago,” said Mac. “There was an accident. An explosion and my eyes were burned, then got infected.”</p><p>“Ouch,” said Alex in sympathy. “So you’re a newcomer to the club then.”</p><p>“The club,” Mac snorted. “Didn’t know there was a club.”</p><p>“Blindies, blinks, blindoes,” chuckled Alex. “To really be in the club you had to have gone to a blind school.”</p><p>“A little late for that,” commented Mac dryly, thinking of high school and hockey and his grandfather taking him fishing. “I did do rehab though.” Briefly, he thought. Pete had insisted on a crash course in blindness skills before he’d sent him off to London to locate a missing Russian spy. </p><p>“You know what I hate about being blind?” Alex burst out. </p><p>“Open cupboard doors?” joked Mac, feeling the bump on his own forehead. </p><p>Alex continued as though he hadn’t heard. “I hate being treated like a two-year-old kid!”</p><p>Before Mac had a chance to ask him to explain, a car pulled up to the curb. </p><p>“Mr. MacGyver? Mr. Green? I’m from the training school. Sorry I’m a bit late. My name is Ron Tate.”</p><p>“Hi Ron,” said Mac, extending his hand. Ron shook it firmly, then offered to take their luggage. </p><p>Once they were both in the car, Ron began a running commentary on the history of the training school, but Mac found his mind wandering. He wondered what Alex had meant about being treated like a toddler. He himself didn’t feel any different than he had a year ago when he could see. Sure people offered help more, but he didn’t see what was strange about that. He supposed he would have to ask Alex when he found a good moment. </p><p>The car bumped over a pavement cut, then swung left into a parking spot and stopped. </p><p>Mac opened his passenger door and unfolded both his long frame and his cane, shaking it out straight and listening to the ferrules lock into place. He heard Alex’s door close behind him, and then Ron handed them their duffels. </p><p>“Would either of you like an elbow?” asked Ron, offering a sighted guide. </p><p>Mac, knowing Alex probably needed the guidance more than he did said, “I’ll follow you guys.”</p><p>Without much ado, Ron guided Alex through a set of double doors and Mac followed their footsteps and conversation. Once inside, Mac had a vague impression of a large, lobby-like room, well-lit and spacious. </p><p>“This is the main Common area,” explained Ron. “We have training sessions here, and you’re welcome to hang out here in the evenings as well. There is a piano, a tape player and a talking book player here.”</p><p>He turned right and began down a hallway. “These are the student rooms,” he said. “Mr. MacGyver, you’re here in 111.” He stopped to show Mac the sign next to the door with three raised ones on it. Underneath were three bumps next to a backwards L that Mac recognized as the braille number even though he hadn’t returned to studying braille much after its introduction at the rehab center. He’d simply been too busy. </p><p>“Thanks,” he said, and pushed the door open. He found a doorway on his immediate left that probably was a bathroom if hotel room layout meant anything. As the room opened up, his cane found the bed and he set his duffel on it. A quick touch tour of the room revealed a dresser, a heater under a window, another door with a lock on it, a chair and a thick rug next to the bed. There was a small table with a lamp, a talking clock and a phone. There was nothing else in the small room, but Mac didn’t mind the sparseness. He didn’t figure he would be in here much anyway. He set his duffel on the dresser, mentally planning to unpack later, and headed back out into the hallway to reverse his steps back to the common room. Ron had promised a tour of the training center once he had shown Alex his room. </p><p>In addition to the Common room, the center had a cafeteria, a smaller classroom, and an outdoor relieving area for the dogs. The kennels and staff offices were in a separate building, he was told. The students would be arriving all day that day, and everyone would gather for the first time at dinner. Mac was set free to relax and explore until then. </p><p>He went back to his room to unpack, and while he was putting his things away, he happened upon something he’d missed the first time: a radio. He switched it on and found a news station. </p><p>The smattering of world events: Lillehammer, Norway winning the honor of the 1994 Olympics, a broadway show called “Les Miserables” opening in Vienna, an injured Cosmonaut landing safely… didn’t interest him and he nearly turned it off, but a story about Soviet nuclear tests came on and thoroughly captured his attention. He considered putting a call through to Pete, but he knew he’d just catch heat, calling in on the first day when he promised he’d relax here. </p><p>Dinner shattered any illusions he’d had about relaxing, however. While the vegetarian bean salad was delicious, he discovered that mealtime was going to be used as lecture time, tonight about laws. They were told about all of the legal rights guide dog users possessed, as well as the responsibilities for behavior that dogs and handlers needed to observe. A dog that was allowed to get sloppy and misbehave could do a fair bit of damage to other future users of that business. </p><p>Mac felt discouraged. It seemed as though a dog would just be trouble heaped upon trouble to his independent mind. He joined the rest of the class in the common room after dinner where the lecture on proper dog care did nothing to lift his spirits. Weekly brushing, nails, feeding, relieving… even bonding and playtime. It sounded like a dog would take over his life. </p><p>The lecture ended and students were left to mingle in the Common room and get to know one another. </p><p>In addition to Alex, the class included five other people. There was a housewife named Karen, who was back for her second dog, and a plumber named Burl. He liked to joke and soon had the group in stitches over his off-color plumber jokes. There was a lady in her fifties named Gladys who had only recently lost her sight, and seemed withdrawn and quiet. Then there was a college student named Claire who was impatient to get her dog and get back to her classes and social life on campus. Lastly, there was a lawyer named Gerald Judge. He, too, had a wry sense of humor and was accustomed to joking about his name. </p><p>Most people were enthusiastic about getting their dogs, and MacGyver kept quiet about his doubts. Most people went to bed early, Mac included. </p><p>The next morning, Mac was awakened early by an instructor pacing the halls with a ghetto blaster, which was pumping out “House of the Rising Sun.” He yawned and tapped the button on the talking clock, which robotically announced that it was six o’clock. He yawned again and headed for the shower. </p><p>Everyone hoped that they would get their dogs that morning, but were disappointed. The instructors, Ron and Jamie, announced that they needed to observe the students’ gait and walking preferences before matching them to a dog. When it was Mac’s turn, Ron handed him an empty guide harness and gave him time to examine it with his fingers. It was made of leather with a squared U-shaped handle attached to a chest strap. </p><p>Ron told Mac they would go on a “Juno walk” where the instructor held the harness and Mac would hold the handle. Mac stood, feeling uncertain, wishing he could walk by himself. But he cooperatively grasped the handle in his left hand and gave the forward command.  There was a tug on the handle and Mac followed it across the room. </p><p>“Step forward with your left foot,” prompted Ron, and Mac, who happened to be a fairly good dancer, had no trouble in remembering. Ron stopped at the front door, let Mac open it, and led him out onto the sidewalk that ran parallel to the building.</p><p>“Give your dog the right command,” said Ron. “Pull your right foot slightly back and gesture to the right with your right hand so your upper body turns that way. It’s a little like driving a car, signaling your dog with your whole body, not just your voice or hand.”</p><p>Mac pulled back to his right, but forgot to step with his left foot. When Ron pointed this out, Mac bit his lip. This was going to be harder than he had anticipated.</p><p>In spite of his blunder, they were soon striding down the sidewalk, and Ron commented on Mac’s quick steps and long stride. He tried different strengths of pulling, and Mac decided he liked it when the harness was pulled strongly so there was plenty of contact between himself and the tugging feeling.</p><p>After three more right turns, they had circled the block and arrived back at the front door. When they went in and Mac found his chair, he found himself releasing a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. Although he was athletic and coordinated, he found it stressful to place his entire trust in the man he had just met that morning. It felt as though his face or shoulders would constantly run into something, and he missed his cane and the information it gave him about the ground.</p><p>Back in the Common room again, Jamie was lecturing the rest of the class. “...at this point your dog is far more trained than you are. You need to be able to give clear, confident commands in a way that doesn’t confuse your dog. Everyone stand up and we’ll practice the commands you will use.”</p><p>The class stood. </p><p>“Hold your left hand in front of you at about hip height as though you were holding onto the harness handle,” Jamie instructed. Mac did so.</p><p>“Left,” corrected Jamie, and there was a little nervous laughter from a couple of students. </p><p>“I think our dogs probably know right from left better than we do,” joked Burl, and got a general chuckle.</p><p>Jamie described the commands: Forward, left, right, halt, and hop-up. Each command was accompanied by a hand gesture and body position that would also signal to the dog what to do. Mac pictured the class going through the different body positions like a blind Tae Kwon Do lesson. Ron went from person to person correcting and encouraging. </p><p>Before they knew it, lunch time had come, which consisted of grilled cheese and tomato soup. Mac dipped and munched while listening to another lecture on scheduling and relieving times, as well as how to find places in a city for a dog to relieve without offending all the neighbors. They also described how to find and clean up a pile, which Mac found to be an incongruous topic with lunch.</p><p>Still, it was handy to know that a hand inserted into a plastic baggie could feel down the back of a dog to its tail and then easily find the pile it left once it was done. Grabbing the pile then reversing the baggie kept everything clean and then it could be thrown away once a trash can was located.</p><p>He had a feeling this technique would get practiced a lot.</p><p>After lunch, the students were told to head to their rooms and wait. Immediately, the air was charged with electricity. Dog time!</p><p>Mac stood and shook out his cane. It was becoming automatic to find the door of the cafeteria in the corner, head straight out the door, turn left, walk until his cane found the rug beneath the drinking fountain, then check the sign on the door just past it. </p><p>He went into his room, and located the chair next to the dresser. As he folded his cane, he noticed that his hands shook a little. He wondered why, since he was usually pretty calm, even in dangerous situations. This felt more like sitting in a restaurant at a blind date. Or maybe an arranged marriage. This animal he was about to meet would supposedly be his constant companion for the next eight or ten years. He still was not crazy about the idea. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter 2</p><p>The door opened and there was a scrabble of claws on the linoleum floor.</p><p>"Hello, Mr. MacGyver, I'd like to introduce you to Puck," said Ron, a smile in his voice.</p><p>"Buck?" queried MacGyver.</p><p>"Puck. Like Shakespeare," clarified Ron.</p><p>"Or a hockey puck," laughed MacGyver.</p><p>"That too," agreed Ron. "He is a black German Shepherd, about eighteen months old."</p><p>There was a snack of the leash being unhooked, then the door closed behind Ron.</p><p>Silence.</p><p>Toenails began clicking around the lino and the sound of sniffing. Puck circled the room, taking in every detail, including MacGyver's knees, while he sat quietly observing.</p><p>After a thorough circuit, Puck evidently decided the perimeter was secure and Mac posed no threat. He flopped onto the floor in front of the door.</p><p>"Aren't you supposed to come get to know me?" Mac asked the dog quizzically.</p><p>No sound.</p><p>"Well, take your time," Mac told him. "I'm not crazy about this either."</p><p>Mac may not have been thrilled about his canine partner, but he soon discovered that the feeling was entirely mutual.</p><p>When it was time to hook on the leash to go out into the grassy courtyard for "relieving time," Puck ducked away from his hands and took the leash in his mouth. He took off across the small dorm room with it and when Mac finally caught him, he had already chewed it into two pieces.</p><p>"Great," Mac said. "I thought you were highly trained."</p><p>He took the leather strap away from the dog and sat on the edge of the bed, feeling the damp, ragged ends under his fingers. He pulled out his pocket knife and with its sharp blade made a long slit in the leather near each end. Then he spliced the ends together, thinking fondly of Harry teaching him to do that with a broken rein on his horse's bridle. He snapped the knife closed and returned it to his pocket.</p><p>Then, rather than chasing the dog, this time he dug in his duffel for a moment, then sat in the chair next to the dresser. Opening the jar, he dipped his fingers, pulled them out and said calmly, "Puck, come."</p><p>The dog came to him curiously sniffing his fingers, and then happily licking the peanut butter he found. Mac smiled to himself, snapped the leash onto the collar with his left hand, and stood up.</p><p>"Score: 1-1," he said with satisfaction and opened the door that led out to the courtyard.</p><p>The next morning, the trainers' ghetto blaster played "Oh What A Beautiful Morning" at 5:37. Mac groaned to himself as he began hunting for his socks and shoes to go out for the early morning "relief time."</p><p>He found one sock easily, but the other had disappeared. The mystery was soon solved when he felt the rug where the dog slept.</p><p>"Oh no, Puck," he groaned when he felt the slimy tatters of what had once been his sock. "Score another point for you."</p><p>He found another sock in a drawer and tied his shoes. The leash was snapped without a battle this morning, and when they went out, Puck did not take much coaxing to relieve. Mac breathed a sigh of relief, especially when he heard other teams having much more trouble than he'd had. He picked up the pile, reversed th baggie, tied it and dropped it into the trash can outside the door of his room.</p><p>As he headed toward the shower, this time he took the precaution of setting not only his socks but also his shoes on top of the dresser.</p><p>During breakfast, everyone was instructed to keep their dogs under their chairs on the leashes. Mac wondered how seven different dogs would behave, but since they were kennelmates and knew one another, they all settled down quickly. One dog began to snore, causing laughter to ripple around the table.</p><p>Mac appreciated that the meals were all brought to the students and they didn't have to deal with the hassle that was a buffet line. This morning it was pancakes, but at his request, he was also served a yogurt smoothie. He grinned. Tasted like home.</p><p>After breakfast, it was time for their first walk. Each student was issued a harness measured to fit their dog with a handle of the right length for their height. Since Puck was a bit on the small side, MacGyver's handle had to be fairly long.</p><p>They practiced harnessing their dogs. Mac expected more silliness, but in the presence of the trainers, he was all business and stood still. Mac didn't quite feel he could score a point, though, since the dog's attitude seemed more condescending than anything else.</p><p>Their first walk would be easy. Out and around the building. The same as the practice route from the day before.</p><p>When it was his turn, Mac stood, feeling Puck also get to his feet beside him, his wagging tail slapping the back of Mac's left knee.</p><p>"Puck, forward," said Mac firmly and followed the tug on the harness toward the door. When the dog stopped, Mac put out his right hand and found the bar of the door right in front of them. He opened it.</p><p>"Praise your dog," reminded Ron, and at the sound of his voice, Puck's tail began wagging again. Mac felt slightly irritated at the dog's devotion to Ron.</p><p>Score another one for the dog, he thought wryly.</p><p>"Good boy, Puck," he said, trying to sound sincere.</p><p>They exited the building and stopped at the curb. Mac searched his brain for the dance moves involved in the right-hand turn. Right foot back. Step left. Turn your shoulders, gesture.</p><p>"Puck, right," he said, and suddenly all the body movements clicked into place in his brain. He was basically getting out of the way so the dog could lead in the direction they were going. As he made the movements, the handle twisted under his left hand and Puck headed joyfully down the sidewalk, Mac following as best he could. With the forward pressure on his left, he found it difficult to keep his balance, particularly without a visual horizon to help him stay oriented in space. He soon found himself pulling back slightly on the handle to compensate and that helped.</p><p>The main thing Mac noticed as they walked was the pure joy that exuded from the dog, as though what he was doing was the coolest thing in the world, as if he was doing what he was born to do. Which he was, if you think about it, Mac told himself. These dogs are bred for this, raised and trained to do this, he thought, recalling the breakfast lecture. He hadn't considered the idea that the dog himself would love it so much, however.</p><p>Puck stopped at the next curb. Mac extended his foot, touched the curb and this time remembered to say, "Good dog." He gave the "Puck, right" command and pulled his own body back out of the way.</p><p>The harness handle felt strong and secure. Puck was firmly in charge and he gloried in it. Mac didn't know how he felt about giving his life's safety over to an animal, but he had to admit, if he had to do it, this one seemed pretty confident about his own ability to handle the task.</p><p>They turned right four more times and entered the Common room again.</p><p>Ron, who had been following along behind, said, "You can ask your dog to find a chair. He will lead you to one that isn't occupied."</p><p>"That's pretty useful," Mac admitted, thinking of the times when he'd tapped strangers' knees with his cane or nearly sat in someone's lap on the bus.</p><p>Puck led him back to the chair they had used before and the both settled with a sigh. He realized the dog had been almost as tense as he had been, despite his veneer of confidence.</p><p>"What are your impressions of your first walk?" asked Jamie after everyone had taken a turn.</p><p>Burl, who had worked a guide dog before, commented on how fast his new dog, a German Shepherd named Maxine, walked. His old dog had slowed so much before retiring he didn't know who was leading whom.</p><p>"Maxine, though, she is quick," Burl said with satisfaction. "I'm going to have to start taking aerobics classes just to keep up with her!"</p><p>Karen, a gentle motherly type, had been paired with a yellow lab named Paris. She also seemed mellow and gentle, and Karen expressed her delight at the bond that was already beginning to form.</p><p>"MacGyver?" asked Ron. "How is Puck doing?"</p><p>"Well, he has already chewed up his leash and my sock," said Mac woefully. Everyone laughed.</p><p>"I guess he is well named, after a mischief-loving fairy," laughed Ron, and Mac felt relief that he didn't seem to be upset. Mac had wondered if he was doing something wrong. He wished he could express the wonder he felt at the sense of joy he could feel coming from the dog as he worked but he didn't know how to put it into words and the discussion continued.</p><p>"Alex?" asked Jamie. "Tell us about your experience this morning."</p><p>Alex shuffled his feet in embarrassment. "Well, Hercules walked me right off the curb," he admitted. "I almost fell."</p><p>Mac cringed inwardly, thinking how jarring an unexpected step down could be.</p><p>"Hercules wasn't paying attention to where he was going; he was looking back at me," explained Jamie. "You need to show him who is boss now and keep him focused on his work."</p><p>Alex shuffled his feet again, but made no comment.</p><p>"Gerald?" prompted Ron.</p><p>The lawyer shifted in his chair before answering. "Gavel… his name's Gavin but I keep calling him Gavel…"</p><p>Ron interrupted. "Once you get home, call him whatever you like. Here at the school, though, we request that you use the names they were trained with."</p><p>"Gavin then," Gerald continued. "I was surprised at what it was like walking with a dog. I mean I've walked pet dogs before, but they are most likely going to lead you into a bush. This was… I don't know. It was really neat."</p><p>Mac nodded in agreement. He'd been surprised also.</p><p>"How about you, Gladys?" asked Jamie of the older woman.</p><p>"Well," began Gladys hesitantly. "You all know I just lost my sight a few months ago. And I thought I'd never get out again. I thought I'd have to spend the rest of my days sitting on my couch waiting for people to bring me everything. This, though, is like the exact opposite of that. I'm walking… safely… quickly. By myself, or almost by myself. It's… it's so wonderful." Her voice held tears as she finished.</p><p>"MacGyver, you are fairly recently blinded as well, aren't you?" asked Ron.</p><p>"Yeah, six months or so," Mac admitted.</p><p>"It can be helpful to train with a dog early on like this, before poor mobility habits develop," commented Ron. "At the same time, it can make it more difficult if you haven't fully adjusted to blindness, regained your balance and developed a positive attitude toward living life as a blind person."</p><p>Mac appreciated his candor. He himself hadn't been given much time to adjust. He had been thrown immediately into the field and expected to find his way. He wondered if that had helped him or made him a little more hesitant. Time would tell, but he wasn't hesitant by nature.</p><p>They each went on another circular walk around the block, this time making left turns. These involved a different set of dance moves, but MacGyver decided that it basically involved signalling "left" to the dog with his body, then following him around the turn. Again, Puck delighted in the work, but both he and Mac were exhausted when they returned to their dorm room after supper.</p><p>"Who knew that walking around one block a couple of times could be so tiring, eh Buddy?" Mac asked the dog. In answer, Puck rolled into his side and groaned. Mac chuckled. He set his shoes and socks on top of the dresser and climbed into bed.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter 3</p><p>MacGyver had been at the training center for two weeks. The days had begun to follow a predictable routine. Early in the morning, a staff member would awaken the students with a song handpicked for the day. They would take the dogs outside until they relieved, then get ready for the day. After breakfast, there was a short lecture, then everyone would pile into the big 15-passenger van for the trip into town to do an ever-increasingly difficult training walk, usually with the instructor following a few paces behind a team.</p><p>Today, the lecture was on "Intelligent Disobedience." Basically this meant that if a dog felt that obeying a command would be unsafe, the dog was not to obey the command.</p><p>Mac was intrigued. Were dogs smart enough to judge whether a command was unsafe or not? And how would the instructors test and train this concept without actual danger to the students?</p><p>Jamie explained that a staff member would drive a car too close to the student, simulating an event where a driver pulled out in front of a blind pedestrian without noticing them. If the guide team was functioning effectively, the "forward" command should seem to be more of a suggestion to the dog, and the dog should decline to obey until the way was clear.</p><p>Mac felt skeptical. Sure Puck could weave around pedestrians and stop at curbs. He had gotten used to following the dog and had learned the cues of stopping and turning. He could listen to traffic at a busy light and determine when it was time to cross. But this seemed like too much to ask an animal to do.</p><p>With curiosity, he climbed into the van and Puck hopped in after him to settle into a bony ball at his feet. Puck reached up and swiped the back of Mac's knuckles with his tongue as he had been in the habit of doing lately. Mac wasn't sure what it meant in dog language but he guessed it was all right.</p><p>The car stopped near a busy shopping mall where they had trained before. Mac recognized the smell of fried chicken at the fast food restaurant on the corner and the traffic patterns from the parking lot even before Ron announced where they were.</p><p>The late September sun shone brightly, as if reluctant to give way to winter. As usual on sunny days, the light washed out Mac's vision to nothing more than a milky glare. He climbed out of the van and adjusted Puck's harness so that it was straight on his back. He stood, leash in hand, waiting for the instructions on their route.</p><p>Each student was to walk downhill to the traffic light, turn left and cross the street, turn left again and walk back up the hill again on the other side of the street to the next light. Cross back to this side and walk down to the van across all of the entrances to the shopping mall.</p><p><em>Great</em>, thought Mac. <em>A big uncomplicated rectangle</em>. He guessed the staff car would be at one of the mall exits. He wondered how Puck would notice it before he himself heard it.</p><p>When it was his turn, Mac directed Puck forward down the hill toward the intersection. A light breeze ruffled his too-long hair and the sun was warm on his shoulders. It was a beautiful day.</p><p>On his left, several lanes of cars passed him, heading to work. He thought he detected a row of parked cars against the curb, between himself and the traffic. Several more lanes of cars surged up the hill on the other side of the road as the light changed.</p><p>They arrived at the corner and Puck stopped at the curb. "Puck, left," commanded Mac, and lined them both up facing south to cross the street. He listened to the traffic flow then, trying to determine which light was his.</p><p>The traffic in front of him, perpendicular to his line of travel whizzed by, while the cars on his right sat idling, waiting to go. His light was red.</p><p>After thirty seconds, the cars in front of him slowed and stopped. To his right, engines surged as drivers started to go. The light had changed.</p><p>"Puck, forward," he said confidently. Puck started to step off the curb, but suddenly pulled backward, crowding his body against Mac's shins and forcing him to take a step back onto the curb and nearly toppling backward. As he did so, he felt the whoosh and suck of air as a large truck passed by only inches from his face. His hair fluttered, then settled. There had been no engine noise.</p><p>Behind him someone screamed.</p><p>There was a loud crash and screech of metal on metal and the sound of shattering glass. Brakes squealed.</p><p>As the commotion continued, Mac stepped backward until he felt the solid wall of a building at his back. Then he crouched and put his arms around the chest of the dog who had just saved his life. Puck was still tense, his ears pointed toward the crash site. He turned briefly to give Mac a quick swipe with his tongue and just as quickly turned back to watch the gathering crowd, his body rigid, ears alert.</p><p>Feet pounded on the pavement, some passing Mac. One set of footsteps stopped next to Mac.</p><p>"You ok, Mr. MacGyver?" Ron asked breathlessly.</p><p>"Yeah, what happened?" asked Mac, although he had a pretty good guess already.</p><p>"There was a truck parked on the hill. Its brakes must have given way because it started rolling just as the light turned. You stepped out in front of it...you must not have heard it coming since the engine wasn't running," explained Ron.</p><p>"Puck pulled me back," said Mac, feeling stunned.</p><p>"Yeah, this certainly wasn't what we had in mind to demonstrate intelligent disobedience," said Ron wryly.</p><p>A siren wailed in the distance, its pitch rising as it came closer.</p><p>"Is anyone hurt?" asked Mac, gesturing to the intersection where he had heard the crash happen.</p><p>"The truck rolled into a van," said Ron. "No one was in the truck, of course, and it was just the back end of the van that was hit. The driver doesn't appear to be hurt."</p><p>Relieved, Mac turned away from the intersection toward the parked Training Center van. He could hear two police sirens as the cars pulled up to the crash site. The police would redirect traffic and determine the cause of the accident, and then things would be cleaned up and life would move on.</p><p>"I'm just going to take a minute," he told Ron, and sat on the running board of the empty van, Puck's leash in his hands. The dog stood next to his knees, leaning protectively inward against Mac as if to say, "I gotcha, Pal."</p><p>Mac discovered that he was shaking slightly inside. He'd brushed death a number of times, but this felt different. The truck had been absolutely silent, rolling down the hill toward him, which rendered it invisible to him. Always before, he had seen danger coming and been able to duck, but this time, he had not even known.</p><p>A wave of gratitude washed over him toward the dog at his feet. Gone was the feeling that he didn't need a dog, that he would do fine with his cane and cleverness. He was grateful for Pete's insistence now, too.</p><p>He set his hand on Puck's head. "Thank you," he said.</p><p>From that day on, Mac sensed a change in Puck. His attitude, always businesslike, now had a snappiness to it that almost made Mac smile. Of course, the trainers had insisted that Puck be examined by the resident vet to make sure he was unhurt. They watched him carefully for a few days, worried that he might show psychological damage from the trauma of the incident as well. Some dogs, they told Mac, could no longer work after a close call like that. They were just too scared.</p><p>Puck showed no such problems. He was as eager to work as ever, but Mac noticed a slight protectiveness that hadn't been there before. Puck looked to MacGyver for praise instead of checking for the trainer's reaction.</p><p>For himself, Mac found that he trusted the dog far more than he had before. The slight hesitancy he had felt before was gone, and it showed in a smoother gait and better posture. They fell into step easier and walking began to feel like flying as they strode along in easy, effortless rhythm.</p><p>The last week of training seemed to pass so quickly that before Mac was aware, there was only one day left until graduation.</p><p>Everyone gathered in the common room that afternoon, but instead of the usual announcement about walks and routes, Ron surprised the group by telling them that it was the day the puppy raisers got to come say goodbye to their dogs.</p><p>Mac felt startled. He knew that Puck had been raised by a family in Pennsylvania, but he hadn't given them a lot of thought. Of course it would have been hard for them to say goodbye. Of course they would want to meet the person who would be working with Puck. Mac just didn't feel ready. He felt suddenly protective of Puck. Would he like his puppy raisers more than Mac? Would he even remember them? Would he feel sad at leaving them?</p><p>As families arrived and greeted dogs and handlers, they drifted off to find semi-private corners in which to chat. Mac waited tensely.</p><p>"Hi Pucky-boy!" cried a young boy's voice and Mac felt Puck give a shiver of anticipation, although he was on Down-Stay and he didn't rise.</p><p>"It's ok, boy. You can get up to say hi," said Mac, and immediately upon being released, Puck leaped to his feet, wagging furiously.</p><p>A small body joined the dog on the floor, hugging and laughing.</p><p>"Hello, I'm Mrs. Carter," said a woman who had approached.</p><p>"MacGyver," he said with a smile, extending his hand.</p><p>"This is my son, Jeff," said Mrs. Carter. "You need to say hello to Mr. MacGyver, too, not just Puck, you know," she said gently to her excited son.</p><p>"Oh, hi Mr. MacGyver," said Jeff. "Sorry, Mom. I'm just so glad to see Puck!"</p><p>Mac grinned at the boy. It was hard not to.</p><p>"Puck's a great dog," he said.</p><p>"He sure is," agreed Jeff enthusiastically. "He was the cutest fuzzy black puppy too. I taught him how to sit!"</p><p>"You started him well," said Mac, smiling at the eager boy.</p><p>"He always chewed up my socks though," admitted Jeff.</p><p>"You know, he has gotten a couple of mine, too," said Mac.</p><p>"You're not mad, are ya?" asked Jeff.</p><p>"No, I'm not mad. He is still a great dog," said Mac.</p><p>At that point, one of the staff came to let them know that the photographer was ready for them. They would get a group photo for the Carter family to take home to remember Puck, and Mac would receive a professional one of himself and Puck to use as needed in the future.</p><p>They sat for the photo, although Jeff had trouble holding still.</p><p>"I'm sure glad Puck got a good person," said Jeff, and Mac smiled again at the boy.</p><p>"Well I'll try and be a good person for him," he said. "I already know he has changed my life."</p><p>"Mine too," agreed Jeff seriously, and Mrs. Carter chuckled.</p><p>"Time to go now, Love," she said. "Say goodbye to Pucky."</p><p>"Goodbye Pucky," said Jeff with a last hug. "I'm so glad you have a man to take care of. You do good, ok?"</p><p>Mac smiled as they left, grateful for all they had done to help gift him with this marvelous dog, this partner that he hadn't even known he needed.</p><p>Graduation the next day was solemn. It was held in the Common room since the weather outside had turned blustery. Family and friends had been invited to attend, and Mac felt touched that Pete came to sit next to him.</p><p>Students were invited to speak if they wanted. Mac was surprised when Alex raised his hand and walked to the podium.</p><p>Mac had such a strong mental picture of the gangly teen with a mop of dark hair that he felt as though he was actually seeing him. Conversations and personality filled in so completely for visual detail that he hardly remember he had never actually seen the kid.</p><p>"Uhm, hi, my name's Alex," he said. "I just wanted to say how grateful I am to get Hercules. I grew up going to a school for the Blind and, don't get me wrong, I'm grateful for them but I never felt like I could really do anything, ya know? Not myself. I love my family and I'm glad they're here supporting me today and glad they let me get a dog because I feel like it's gonna open up so many opportunities for me. I'm just so excited to go where I want to go and do what I want to do and I think it's Hercules that made that possible."</p><p>Students clapped and cheered. Mac heard a few sniffles. He found that he had to blink back tears as well. Alex had really grown and found himself during the four weeks of training.</p><p>Mac raised his hand, and when called, walked to the podium. "I'll be honest," he said with a grin, "I didn't think I needed a dog." Laughter rippled around the audience. "And Puck certainly didn't need me!" More laughter. "But I think we have both found out just how much we do need one another." The audience applauded enthusiastically and Pete clapped him on the shoulder as he sat down.</p><p>"This doesn't mean I always think you're right, you know," he whispered to Pete, who laughed.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter 4</p><p>Mac stood on the tarmac listening to the ancient pilot bustle around his Cessna 172 Taildragger getting the little plane ready for takeoff. Light, quick footsteps approached from off to his left.</p><p>"Mr. MacGyver?" the young voice asked.</p><p>He turned. "Hi," he greeted warmly.</p><p>"I'm… uh… Christy," she said with the edge of uncertainty that told him she hadn't been around many blind people. He put his hand out to shake hers. She took it, and though her hand was small, her grip was surprisingly strong. "Is this our plane?" she asked.</p><p>"Yep, let me introduce you and we'll get your gear stowed," Mac said, glad for something to do.</p><p>Christy was an undergraduate in the University of Idaho Wildlife and Fisheries program. She had signed on with the Phoenix Foundation for a summer internship trip into the Selway River to study salmon populations and the impact of the dams on salmon migration. Mac had jumped at the chance to lead the project, and Pete gave him the green light, joking, "you'll be safer in the wilderness than you were in London at least."</p><p>Now, Mac stood on a tiny airport in Orofino, Idaho, having spent the last two days on airplanes and buses to get here. Puck, of course, lay beside his left foot, panting as the sun warmed his all-black fur.</p><p>"Jerry?" called Mac to the pilot, who seemed to be buried in the cargo bay of the little plane, judging from the muffled banging of tools and shuffling of gear.</p><p>He emerged and called back, "Yeah?"</p><p>"Jerry, meet Christy. She is on my team," Mac stated.</p><p>"How do, ma'am," said the wizened man, and returned to his banging.</p><p>"Can I take your pack?" Mac offered and was glad to find that she hadn't packed more than about fifty pounds. They would be doing quite a bit of hiking and he certainly didn't want to be slack-packing her when she got tired.</p><p>With Puck's doubled service leash looped over his elbow, Mac walked toward the four-seater, his right hand raised to find the wing before his forehead found it. When his fingertips brushed the metal flaps on the back side of the wing, he followed it along to the body of the plane.</p><p>"One more bag," he told Jerry cheerfully, setting it on the ground beside other bags and packs with the testing equipment.</p><p>"Too much weight," complained the old pilot, but Mac knew from experience that it was well under the limit.</p><p>"You just like flying a light plane," he joked. "Here, let me help." He handed gear to Jerry who stowed it carefully in the tight space.</p><p>"Have you ever flown on a little plane before?" he asked Christy.</p><p>"Yeah, once," she replied. "My Uncle has one." Her voice held a mixture of excitement and nervousness. Mac knew from descriptions of her photograph in her file that she had long dark hair, blue eyes and was about 5' 6". He tried to get a sense of her personality but guessed it would just come with time. He knew she was an Idaho native and really cared about the wildlife in her home state, if the application essay counted for anything. He also knew from her file that she had asthma, so he wasn't surprised to hear the sharp sigh of an inhaler.</p><p>"Time to load up," announced Jerry.</p><p>"You can have the front seat," offered MacGyver to Christy. "You can see better and I'll sit with Puck."</p><p>"Puck? That's your dog?" Christy asked timidly.</p><p>Before MacGyver could answer, Jerry spoke up, "F**k? Why the hell did you name your dog that?"</p><p>Both Mac and Christy laughed.</p><p>"Puck with a P," said MacGyver.</p><p>"Oh, I see," laughed Jerry. "My hearing ain't so good after flying this thing so long." Mac assumed he gestured toward the plane.</p><p>He ran his hand along the fuselage until he found the handle to the passenger door and opened it. Getting a German Shepherd and his own tall frame crammed into the back seat of the cramped cockpit was a squeeze, but he made it. Christy climbed in and so did Jerry.</p><p>"We're off!" commented Mac as the rising pitch of the motor told him the propeller at the nose of the plane had begun to whir. He was glad when Jerry pointed out a pair of earphones with attached microphone hanging on the seat back near Mac's scrunched knees.</p><p>Although he could barely make out her voice over the noise of the plane even with the headphones, he heard Christy exclaim, "Look at the fields! They look like a patchwork quilt!" He smiled at her enthusiasm, remembering the view from the small planes he'd flown before.</p><p>Her descriptions continued, much to his personal enjoyment. "The trees are darker now. Lines that are natural are curvy, whereas man-made lines are straight."</p><p>"Lines?" he asked.</p><p>"Lines in the landscape," she explained. "Edges of things. Edges of fields. Tree lines. Roads. Lines."</p><p>Mac admired her perceptiveness. For a college student, she seemed to be a thoughtful, observant person. He had a feeling he would enjoy working with her.</p><p>"So many little lakes!" she exclaimed.</p><p>"Glacier-formed," Mac contributed, remembering a long-ago science lesson in which he had pushed a block of ice across a pan of sand, observing the shapes of the cuts and valleys left in the "land" after the ice had passed.</p><p>He remembered feeling the sand in the tray with his fingers, the tactile memory almost as strong as the visual one, and imagined the forested land below them marked with tear-drop shaped gouges from the ancient glacier.</p><p>"There's the river!" Christy said excitedly. "That has to be the Selway!"</p><p>"Nah. Lochsa," corrected Jerry laconically.</p><p>"Oh, ok," replied Christy, unabashed. "The Selway drains into the Lochsa, which drains into the Clearwater, then the Snake, then the Columbia," she recited, and Mac knew she was mentally tracing the long route the salmon took to get all this way upstream to their spawning grounds every year.</p><p>"Pretty amazing, isn't it?" he asked her with a smile.</p><p>"It really is," she agreed. "They come to the same place year after year."</p><p>"As long as the dams don't get in the way," said Mac.</p><p>"But that's why we are designing better fish ladders! And counting the fish that use the ones we have," she explained. "If we do it right, the dams can supply hydroelectric power without disrupting the yearly migration."</p><p>Mac cautiously agreed. "If they are working the way we hope they are. That's why the Phoenix Foundation sponsored this project: to gather data on whether they are really working."</p><p>"Part of my class project last year in one of the Fisheries classes was to design a more efficient fish ladder for Lower Granite Dam on the Snake River," she explained. "Parts of our design went to the engineers who actually build the ladders." The pride in her voice was evident.</p><p>Mac, on the other hand, still felt dubious. The population of the Chinook Salmon had fallen drastically, and even the efforts by the Idaho Department of Fish and Game to plant salmon eggs and fry, or young fish, in 1981 and 1985 were yet to be proven to be as effective as conservationists had hoped. Maybe the in-depth study they would perform this summer would help.</p><p>"I don't think I really realized how big the Selway-Bitterroot Wilderness is," said Christy. "The trees just go on and on."</p><p>Mac thought of the tactile map that the Phoenix Foundation had provided for him. He had spent hours poring over the rivers, the trees, the shape of the land, the X-shaped runways at the Moose Creek Ranger Station. Now Christy was seeing that same landscape spread out below their plane.</p><p>MacGyver felt the plane bank to the right, and then it continued on its circle as it descended toward the backcountry airstrip at Shearer. The air rising off the mountains caused the plane to buck once, and Mac felt his stomach heave. He sure preferred to be the one with the stick in his hand rather than the passenger in the back seat unable to even look out of the windows. He closed his eyes and took a long, slow breath.</p><p>"You ok?" Asked Jerry.</p><p>"Yeah, I'm fine," Mac answered shortly.</p><p>Jerry apparently returned his attention to the landing, because he said nothing more until the plane had descended sharply and touched down on the bumpy unfinished field. The strip was short as evidenced by the speed of Jerry's braking, and then he shut down the engine.</p><p>When they opened the doors, Mac expected to be greeted by the ranger that worked out of the Shearer Station, but no one came.</p><p>"They must be out and about," commented Jerry, who had evidently also expected to be met.</p><p>Once Christy had climbed down onto the ground and was rustling through the grass toward the end of the wing, Mac released the seat back and began the tedious process of unfolding his long frame from the sardine can in which he was lodged.</p><p>Puck followed, delighted to be freed. Mac unsnapped his leash, letting him run freely on the empty airstrip, against the advice of the training center. He figured that the dog had nowhere to go at the moment, so wouldn't run off. He turned toward Jerry who had arrived on the passenger side of the plane and was opening the cargo door. Mac helped pull out packs and bags into a pile on the ground.</p><p>Christy came back toward them.</p><p>"It's so beautiful here!" She enthused. Mac had to agree. They were awash in the smell of sun on the evergreen trees and the grass of the airstrip. A few insects buzzed in the quiet that seemed even more still after the droning noise of the plane. Mac tipped his face to the sun, his eyes closed, and breathed in a lungful of the pine-scented air.</p><p>He heard Puck bounding through the rustling grass nearby, exuding joy at the freedom to run.</p><p>"Need to mow it again," muttered Jerry.</p><p>"Do they have a mower out here or do they have to mow the whole airstrip by hand?" Mac asked.</p><p>"They do it by hand," replied Jerry, once again from inside the cargo hold, fishing around for something.</p><p>"Wow," commented Christy. "That's a lot of work!"</p><p>"Yup," agreed Jerry.</p><p>"Got it," Jerry announced in delight. "My fishing pole. Might as well get some trout this afternoon."</p><p>Mac and Christy untangled the pile of packs, each looking for their own gear. Mac pulled out the special dog pack full of kibble that he had bought for Puck. He called the dog over and put on his harness, leash and the pack of food.</p><p>"Here you go, Puck," he said. "You can carry your own food."</p><p>Once he had the dog harnessed, Mac slung his own pack onto his shoulders. Because he carried the testing equipment in addition to his camping gear, he had opted for one of the new external frame packs that centered the weight on his waist instead of hanging from his shoulders. He buckled the straps and stood up straight, finding his balance with the extra seventy-five pounds that he carried.</p><p>"Ready?" asked Christy.</p><p>"Yup," answered Jerry and Mac heard him start off through the swishing grass.</p><p>"Go ahead," offered Mac, thinking Christy might feel more comfortable in the middle.</p><p>She drew in a breath as if to argue, seemed to think better of it, and headed off after Jerry.</p><p>"Puck, follow," requested Mac, and the dog joyfully tugged at the harness, following the other two. MacGyver walked alongside, imagining the yellow of the summer grass, the blue of the Western sky and the greens and browns of the evergreen trees that covered the landscape. He knew the Selway drainage was dry, so the trees would be spread farther apart than they were in the rainforests of the Cascades. Their biggest threat would be rattlesnakes, not bears or mountain lions. <em>And</em>, he thought sadly, <em>the gray wolves are gone. Maybe someday they can be reintroduced here...</em></p><p>Once the small group was off the cleared airstrip and into the trees, the path narrowed, and Mac found that his right foot was more often on the sloping edge as he and Puck jockeyed for a double position on the single-width path. After a while, they adjusted their strides to accommodate their terrain and things went more smoothly. Puck had agreed to hug the left side of the path, and Mac raised his feet higher to avoid the rocks and roots with which the uneven path seemed to abound.</p><p>Mac felt the canopy of trees open out and sun washed over his vision again.</p><p>"Is this the Shearer cabin?" he asked.</p><p>"Yup," answered Jerry, who wasn't far ahead.</p><p>"We'll wait here for tonight, and start our hike in the morning," Mac told Christy. "I want to talk to the rangers before we go."</p><p>They both bid goodbye to Jerry, who was heading down to his fishing hole on the river, which Mac could hear through the trees to his right. They thanked the pilot, and Mac reassured him that his fee would be sent shortly from the Phoenix Foundation. The small elderly man bid a short farewell and stumped off toward the melodic sound of the river.</p><p>"Puck, find the door," said Mac, and the dog turned left toward the cabin, which Mac couldn't see but soon felt its presence against his face. He still hadn't become used to using facial vision and it always surprised him when he felt a wall or a building before he touched it, even if his eyes couldn't make it out.</p><p>Puck stopped, seeming perplexed, and Mac put out a hand, finding a rough wooden porch, but no stairs.</p><p>"Find the stairs," he encouraged, but Puck simply whined.</p><p>"Oh, they're over on the side," offered Christy, walking left toward them herself. Puck followed her and led MacGyver up the three wooden stairs onto the covered porch. They skirted something that Mac guessed were chairs or a bench, and Puck stopped at the closed door. Mac tried the handle but it wouldn't open. Feeling up the frame, his fingers encountered a hasp and padlock.</p><p>"Well, guess we're waiting out here for now," he said wryly to Christy.</p><p>"That's ok," she responded, standing on the edge of the porch and facing out into the forest. She used her inhaler, then took a slow breath.</p><p>"What's it look like?" asked MacGyver, to his own surprise. He hadn't asked that before.</p><p>Instead of replying, Christy turned to him and asked, "are you… totally blind?"</p><p>"Not totally," he answered. "I can see light and a few shapes and colors."</p><p>"I was surprised to find out that you were blind," she offered candidly, and Mac laughed.</p><p>"I bet," he said.</p><p>"Have you always been blind?" Her next question was one he'd anticipated.</p><p>"Nope. Accident about a year ago," he explained briefly.</p><p>"And you're okay… uh… hiking and stuff?" she wanted to know.</p><p>"I'll figure it out," he said, smiling.</p><p>"Well, it's really beautiful out here," Christy began, then stopped. "I'm sorry. I hope that didn't make you feel bad."</p><p>"Nah," chuckled Mac. "It doesn't bug me."</p><p>"I can't see the river through the trees, but I can see the mountain on the other side. There aren't that many trees over there. Big, open meadows and these gray rocks that stick up here and there. Wildflowers, yellow and white and red… It's amazing."</p><p>"I can hear the river," offered Mac.</p><p>"Yeah, it can't be far. There are a couple of trails. I kinda want to go explore," she said.</p><p>"Have fun then," he assented, knowing they would be putting on plenty of miles tomorrow and having no desire to add to them today.</p><p>"See ya then," she said, then gasped. "Oh, I'm sorry!"</p><p>"Why, for saying 'see ya?'" asked Mac. "It's ok to say that. I'll see you in a bit."</p><p>"Ok!" she said joyfully, and bounded off the front of the porch and down a path straight to the east in front of the east-facing cabin.</p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter 5<br/>"Hey there!" called a voice from someone walking along a path that came from the north, not the southern path that led to the airstrip.</p><p>"Hi," replied MacGyver, standing and raising a hand in greeting. Christy had already returned reporting that she had found the outhouse, and also the river. Then they had been sitting in the wooden chairs at the front of the cabin chatting as the afternoon drew into twilight. Jerry had walked back past the cabin, but hadn't stayed. Shortly after, they heard the plane's engine as he took off into the southern sky, circled overhead and flew west out of the wilderness and back toward town. When he was gone, Mac and Christy both sat silently for a few minutes, letting the reality of their remote location sink in.</p><p>The last of the light had almost disappeared from Mac's view, although he guessed Christy could still see quite a bit in the gray summer evening when they were greeted by the newcomer.</p><p>"Heard your plane get in," continued the voice, and Mac couldn't quite tell from this distance if it belonged to a man or a woman with a lower voice. "How was the flight in?"</p><p>"Good," replied Mac, and listened to two sets of footsteps approach the cabin. "You the ranger?"</p><p>"Nah, we're volunteers staying here for two weeks while the ranger's on furlough," replied the man, for Mac was pretty sure that's what the voice signified. "I'm Randall and this is my wife Jeanne." His introduction took away the last of Mac's doubt.</p><p>"Name's MacGyver, from the Phoenix Foundation, and this is Christy Henson from the University of Idaho," Mac offered.</p><p>"Nice to meet you," said Randall, hopping straight onto the porch front and grasping MacGyver's extended hand in a firm grip. "Phoenix Foundation. They told us you'd be along this week sometime. Doing a study on the Chinook?"</p><p>"We are," contributed Christy with her trademark enthusiasm.</p><p>Jeanne, walking behind Randall, chose the stairs, but once she had arrived on the porch, she welcomed them warmly, and it was she who unlocked the cabin door.</p><p>"Come on in," she said, and Mac judged her to be in her fifties by the sound of her voice and the way she walked. She was shorter than Christy, but had an air of hospitality and motherliness about her.</p><p>Without thinking, Mac put out a hand to find the door frame.</p><p>"You ok?" asked Randall with concern.</p><p>"Oh, they didn't tell you?" asked Mac. "I'm blind." He spoke in a "no big deal" tone of voice, hoping that he didn't have to go through the entire question process again.</p><p>"Hmm," was all Randall said, and Mac was sure the man had shrugged.</p><p>"Guess you people can do anything you want to nowadays," chimed in Jeanne, and Mac winced inwardly at the "you people" but he didn't respond.</p><p>"This your dog?" asked Randall as Puck bounded up onto the porch from where he had been sniffing off somewhere.</p><p>"Yep," affirmed Mac, and snapped on Puck's leash again.</p><p>"Let me just get a fire going in the stove here," said Jeanne, but Randall stopped her. "Let me get the fire going, Mother. You go out to the shed and find us that mess of green beans we been saving."</p><p>She assented and headed back outside.</p><p>Mac had discovered that just inside the cabin, a table extended from the left hand wall almost past the door, and benches lined the wall to accommodate it. He moved to his right and found a rough countertop where his fingers touched a haphazard stack of aluminum pans. He could hear Randall rummaging in a woodbox in the far right corner and he assumed the stove was that way.</p><p>"Want me to tell you where things are?" offered Christy.</p><p>"Sure," Mac agreed.</p><p>"Table and benches on the left," she confirmed. "Kitchen area on the right. In the center is a ladder to a loft, and under the loft are some bench cots. Stove on the right just past the kitchen. It has a water bucket with a spigot and a sort of sink. I think they cook on the wood stove."</p><p>"That we do," affirmed Randall. "Definitely a step up from a campfire! You two can sleep out on the porch under the stars or up in the loft if you like," he continued.</p><p>"Outside for me," spoke up MacGyver quickly, imagining the fresh pine air.</p><p>"Me too," agreed Christy happily.</p><p>"Have you ever been backpacking or camping before?" Mac asked her.</p><p>"Of course," she said in a mock-offended tone. "I'm from Idaho after all. What else is there to do around here but drive tractor and go camping?"</p><p>Mac laughed. "You got a point there," he admitted.</p><p>"Need any help?" he asked Randall.</p><p>"Not with the fire. Just about have 'er going. You can get into that food box under the counter and find some tortillas though. Some canned chicken and there's spices on the rack on the wall."</p><p>Just in case there were loose socks somewhere in the cabin, Mac put the German Shepherd on tie-down under the table, gave him some water, then joined Christy at the counter. It was built from plywood and felt more like a workbench than a kitchen, but he supposed it served its rustic purpose. Christy was already rummaging on the shelf under the counter, so Mac ran his hands along the wall next to the door. Finding no spice rack, he next tried the north wall.</p><p>"It's here," said Christy, taking his left hand and placing it higher than he'd been searching. His fingers met about ten plastic shakers, and some metal cans. Marking their location with his left hand, he took them down one by one with his right and popped open the lids, holding each to his nose. He selected one that smelled like garlic, one with the sweetness of paprika, and another with the unmistakable zip of chili powder.</p><p>"Is this garlic powder or garlic salt?" he asked Christy.</p><p>She leaned over to look. "Salt," she answered, then plopped a plastic bag of tortillas and two metal cans on the counter.</p><p>Carefully, so as not to knock them over, Mac felt for the pans stacked to his right. "Do you have any refried beans instead of chicken?" he asked hopefully.</p><p>"Sure," answered Randall, standing up from his fire building chore. He left the door of the firebox open, and Mac could feel the heat beginning to flow from the stove. It felt nice, since the mountain summer had begun giving way to chilly evening. "Grab a can under there and stick it into the little pot there. You got it."</p><p>"I need my flashlight," said Christy in frustration as she searched again in the food box. "Here. Here's refried beans. How do you get this food out here anyway? Plane?"</p><p>"No," answered Randall. Too heavy for that, and too expensive. We still use mule trains out here."</p><p>"Wow, really?" asked Christy in surprise. "How often do they come?"</p><p>"About every two or three weeks in the summer depending on the weather. Less in winter," replied Randall, sitting on the bench next to the table and lighting an aromatic pipe. He also must have lit a kerosene lantern because Mac could make out its soft yellow glow on his left. "Oops, sorry, Pooch. That's your tail."</p><p>At this moment, Jeanne came back in with her hands full of vegetables. "Green beans, peppers, and one more onion," she recited. "Better put onions on the list, Rand."</p><p>"Nope, those give me gas," he responded teasingly, but Mac heard the scratching of a pencil.</p><p>"Do the rangers stay out here all winter?" asked Christy.</p><p>"Not here at Shearer. Someone usually stays at Moose Crick, and there's the people who homestead back here," answered Randall, puffing on his pipe.</p><p>"I can snap the beans for you," offered Christy and took the bowl to the table near Randall.</p><p>"Homesteaders?" asked Mac. "This far out?"</p><p>"A few," said Randall. "Not many these days. The Wilderness Act meant that the Federal government has been trying to buy back the land these past twenty years. A few have stayed though. Some of the land is still privately owned. Rich folks just bought one of the homesteads south of here so they can fly in on their vacations. Some Hollywood actor, I think."</p><p>"Those rich city folk can be a problem," offered Jeanne. "Make a big to-do when the wildfires come through every summer, and if they don't have caretakers that know what they're doing they lose a lot of property."</p><p>"Those wildfires," pursued MacGyver. "I heard they're thinking about implementing a "let burn" policy out here, not trying to suppress the fire but letting nature take its course."</p><p>Randall snorted. "Some scientists and politicians," he began, and then seemed to remember who he was speaking to. "Beg pardon, but we don't like the idea, not one bit."</p><p>"Why not?" asked Mac curiously. From what he could tell the plan had a sound scientific basis.</p><p>"Well, first of all, they been fighting fires out here since, well, when did the fire crews start coming this far out, Mother?"</p><p>"Hmm," said Jeanne in thought as her fingers continued operating a can opener. "I think after the Big Burn in 1910? Maybe the twenties?"</p><p>"There you go," said Randall, warming to his subject. At least sixty years of suppressed fire. Lookouts on most of the peaks. Crews coming in with shovels to dig trenches. And you know what happens?"</p><p>Mac was beginning to follow the man's train of thought. "Underbrush?"</p><p>"Precisely," affirmed Randall. "So much underbrush has grown up that once the fire goes through, it's crazy." He drew out the syllables of the word "crazy" as if to emphasize his point.</p><p>Jeanne put a frying pan into Mac's hands and a butter dish. "Start this browning, please," she said, and Mac smiled at her, silently thanking her for assuming he could cook rather than the reverse assumption.</p><p>He moved toward the warmth of the stove and felt for the radiant heat on the top without touching it. "Will this work?" he asked, setting the pan on the stovetop.</p><p>"Little forward," directed Jeanne and returned to chopping her vegetables.</p><p>Mac moved the pan slightly until he felt it settle into the round depression of the removable burner. He asked for a table knife, and received one, which he used to scoop out some butter and toss it into the heating pan.</p><p>The butter had just begun to sizzle when Jeanne stepped up next to him and scraped her cutting board off into the browned butter. As the onions and peppers fried, they began to give off a heavenly aroma. Jeanne handed MacGyver a wooden spoon which he used to turn and stir the slices.</p><p>"Gonna flavor the green beans," explained Jeanne adding two slices of bacon to one side of the frying pan. The green beans were beginning to boil on another burner, and in a smaller pot, Mac stirred his refried beans, asking Christy to hand him some cumin to put in them.</p><p>Jeanne added the canned chicken to the sauteed vegetables, and Mac offered to season the whole fajita mix. She agreed and he found the rest of his spices from earlier.</p><p>When the bacon was fried and the green beans drained, Jeanne crumbled the bacon into them and added some butter and salt. She had set Christy to grating some Cheddar cheese, and soon called out that it was time to dish up.</p><p>"Would you mind picking out some vegetables for mine?" Mac asked Christy in an aside. She agreed without hesitation, and he mentally breathed a sigh of relief. Apparently she didn't mind helping him out here and there.</p><p>Everyone grabbed an old-fashioned tin plate, loaded tortillas with fajita mixture, added the green beans to the side, and found places around the kerosene lantern on the plywood table that had been covered with a vinyl tablecloth.</p><p>"That's some good backcountry cooking, Mother," said Randall appreciatively as he dug in.</p><p>"Mr. MacGyver did the seasoning tonight," countered Jeanne.</p><p>"You're a hell of a cook for…" Randall stopped himself.</p><p>"For a blind guy?" finished Mac with a laugh. The tension eased and Randall laughed too.</p><p>"Beer?" offered Randall, but Mac said he'd be fine with water.</p><p>"You ever heard of the Magruder Corridor?" asked Randall as they ate.</p><p>Mac had to admit that he hadn't but Christy replied that she had heard the name before.</p><p>Randall warmed to his story. "Magruder was a merchant, way back a ways during the last century. He was friends with a guy in Lewiston named Hill Beachy."</p><p>"Lewiston is one of the bigger towns over that way?" asked MacGyver, gesturing vaguely to the west.</p><p>"Yep, past Orofino, where you flew out of," answered Randall. "Anyway, Hill Beachy ran a hotel in Lewiston. Magruder used to go to Virginia City, way over in Montana. Take supplies and bring back gold. During the cattle driving and gold rush days."</p><p>Mac settled back on the bench to listen to the story. Puck set his nose on Mac's foot with a groan of contentment.</p><p>Randall laughed at the dog, then resumed his tale. "So Magruder was bringing back a bunch'a' gold from Virginia City on mules. They didn't use a pack string in those days. Magruder picked up some extra guys to help his own people herd all the mules. Well, around the head of the Selway, those extra guys decided they wanted to take the gold for themselves, so they murdered Magruder."</p><p>Christy let out a small gasp of shock.</p><p>"Yep, killed him and his men, and took some of the gold and hid it in a cave, some say up Elevator Mountain. The rest they took with them into Lewiston."</p><p>At this point Jeanne joined the story. "The murderer was riding Magruder's horse, and Hill Beachy recognized it right away. That was stupid."</p><p>Randall continued, "they rode Magruder's horse, and when Magruder didn't come back after a while, Hill Beachy got suspicious. The Sheriff and his posse did a manhunt all the way down to California where they caught up to the gang and got one of the guys to rat out his buddies to avoid the noose himself. They brought the whole gang back to Lewiston and hung 'em all, except for the informer."</p><p>"They say he was dead within the year though, anyway, so it didn't do him much good," put in Jeanne.</p><p>Randall lowered his voice. "Some say the gold's never been found. That it's still hidden in a cave up here somewhere."</p><p>"It's just a legend, Rand. Come help me get some of these turnovers for dessert," admonished Jeanne with a laugh.</p><p>"But they called the road from Darby, Montana through to Elk City the Magruder Corridor," finished Randall, untangling himself from the bench to go help his wife. The turnovers she had made earlier with canned peaches and plenty of sugar and cinnamon had been warming during dinner and she served them with the canned cream that she had whipped and sweetened until it was light and frothy. MacGyver savored every bite.</p><p>"I think I'll head on out and get my sleeping bag set up," he announced once they had finished the turnovers and helped wash the dishes. "We want an early start tomorrow."</p><p>Everyone bid their good nights and Mac headed out to find his pack in the dark and unbundle his sleeping bag. He took it down to the porch of the small shed so that Christy wasn't crowded, and set to work feeding Puck and bedding them both down for the night.</p><p>As he lay on the hard boards, he looked up toward the sky but could see nothing but blackness. Whatever starlight and moonlight there was did not penetrate the thick scars on his corneas, and he finally closed his eyes in frustration. As he did so, the night came alive with smells, currents of air and layers of sound. The fresh mountain air combined with the day's warmth still flowing off of rocks and plants. Knowing that yarrow and mouse-ear grew in the area, he sniffed to see if he could catch the bitter scents. It was all a mix of the trees, the earth, and the different kinds of underbrush, which had been cleared from directly around the cabins to protect from fire. Close to him nighttime insects whirred, and in the distance the monotonous rippling of the river gave evidence to its location. The air that brushed his cheek was chilly, but without the bitter cold of earlier in the season. He snuggled down into the warm down bag and fell asleep.</p>
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter 6</p><p>The sun was high overhead as MacGyver picked his way along the trail that wound its way north next to the river. He adjusted the heavy pack on his back and shifted the stiff handle of Puck's harness in his sweaty left hand. Behind him, he heard Christy sigh.</p><p>"'Bout time for a break?" he called over his shoulder to her. They had been hiking along the river the whole morning, except for a small stop for a snack and a drink. Randall and Jeanne bid them goodbye before the sun was up, taking their mowing scythes out to the airstrip before the heat of the day set in. As volunteers, it was their job to keep the airstrip mowed and the area around the cabin clear of fire hazards while the rangers were in town. And since the wilderness Act of 1964, no motors were allowed (planes excepted), so they were mowing the airstrip the old-fashioned way. Mac didn't envy them that job.</p><p>"Yeah, I'm ready for a rest," admitted Christy, who had kept up surprisingly well with Mac's pace along the trail. They had begun with Christy in the lead, but soon discovered that Puck was just as adept at following the trail as she was, so then they took turns. Because they both wore high-top boots to protect against the ever-present rattlesnakes, they were both hot in the summer sun. "Here's a little clear area along this sand bar," said Christy, and led Mac through some bracken to a small beach in the turn of the river. He unharnessed Puck and took off both their packs then flopped in the shade of a tree to rest.</p><p>After Mac had munched his peanut butter sandwich for lunch, he dug around in one of the pockets of his pack for the plastic stuff sack containing the packet of tactile maps he had gathered back at the Phoenix office.</p><p>"What's that?" asked Christy coming over to peer down at what he held.</p><p>"Maps," said Mac, riffling through the pile. The first one was a tactile representation of the entire Selway drainage. The next one, a closer view of the upper Selway. He had several that formed a set of elevations of the area and one with simplified trails labeled with braille names.</p><p>"Those are super cool!" enthused Christy. "Can I see one?"</p><p>"Sure," assented Mac, handing over one he wasn't using. The map rustled as she unfolded it and ran her own fingers over the stiff, embossed paper.</p><p>Puck trotted off down the beach, noisily lapping water from the river.</p><p>"I'm looking to figure out how close we are to the Salmon Hole," said Mac, referring to one of the spawning grounds for the Chinook. He felt frustration rise in him at the slowness of trying to take in detailed information tactually; even finding the right map was proving difficult.</p><p>"I brought the Forest Service elevation map too," offered Christy. "My brother would kill me if I went backpacking without my own map."</p><p>"Your brother?" queried Mac.</p><p>"Yeah, my big, protective, annoying, bossy older brother," she laughed. "His name's Mike."</p><p>Mac smiled at this and turned back to the pile of paper in his lap. He carefully sorted through again, until he found the one of the river and the trail they were using. Nearby peaks were identified as well as points in the river and other trails.</p><p>"We passed the Wolfinbarger homestead with the bridge, right?" he asked, his fingers tracing the route they had followed all morning. He was looking for Bear Creek, and intuition told him they were close.</p><p>"Let's see," pondered Christy as she too peered at his map. "From what I can tell looking at the river, we're about here." She placed a finger on the map. Mac traced the distance from her finger toward Bear Creek, flowing into the Selway from the East and decided they were probably fairly close.</p><p>They repacked their supplies, and as they finished putting gear into their packs, Mac set a small box on the ground.</p><p>"What are these?" asked Christy, picking up the little clear plastic box and examining the contents, which looked like tiny cylindrical pills. She handed the box to him. "Are these for the salmon?"</p><p>Mac opened the box, removing one of the tiny pills and handing it to her to look at. "These are individual tracking devices developed by the Phoenix Foundation. We can use handheld satellite radio receivers to track the path of individual fish after they have had these trackers injected under their skin. I'm hoping to be able to catch some young roe and use these to track an entire migration path over the next year."</p><p>"Wow," she said in admiration as he finished zipping up his pack and hoisting its weight back onto his shoulder, settling the waist belt and tightening it. He whistled for Puck and harnessed him again.</p><p>They hadn't walked more than a couple of miles when Christy exclaimed, "there's Bear Creek! I'm sure of it!"</p><p>Mac could hear that the ever-present river was rushing and swirling with even more agitation as the large creek joined it.</p><p>"Do you see a good place to cross?" he asked. "Wide and shallow?"</p><p>"We passed one just back there. The water isn't too high this year," said Christy, standing on the edge of the river and scanning the water.</p><p>MacGyver had collected a sturdy branch to use as a walking stick and help himself balance. He used it now to feel his way down to the river's edge. Christy was right; the dry stones exposed at the edge of the water showed that it had at one time been much higher.</p><p>"I'm going to change my shoes," she commented, and Mac agreed. They both took off their hiking boots, tying them by their laces to their packs. Mac had brought a pair of old tennis shoes to wear in the water, and he put these on now.</p><p>Unhooking Puck's leash and putting the dog food pack on top of his own pack frame, he stepped into the water, sliding on the algae-covered rocks that lined the riverbed. The fast-flowing water tugged at his knees, and he leaned on his stick for balance. At one point in the middle, he felt a flash of fear. He couldn't hear anything but the water and the movement around his feet and legs felt dizzying and disorienting. He wondered for a sickening moment if he was about to lose his balance and fall entirely in the water. He stood, feet braved against the slimy rocks and took a deep, steadying breath.</p><p>"You ok?" called Christy.</p><p>"Yeah," he yelled back, and the moment passed. He continued the unsteady crossing until the depth of water gave way to dry rocks on the other side. All in all the river hadn't been above his knees, but he was still glad to be across.</p><p>Puck splashed up beside him, and as soon and he was close to Mac, gave his fur a hearty shake, spraying Mac with dog-flavored river water.</p><p>"Ugh, thanks Buddy," said Mac sarcastically.</p><p>Christy was next and she commented lightly on how easy it had been to cross the river. Mac didn't reply, but took a long drink from his canteen and set about changing his shoes and replacing Puck's pack on his already-drying back.</p><p>The place where they had crossed did not have a trail on the other side of the river, so they started up the hill at a sideways slant aiming for Bear Creek.</p><p>At last they found the trail which led to their surprise to a narrow suspension bridge across Bear Creek.</p><p>"It must be right up here where the Salmon Hole is that Randall told us about," said Christy.</p><p>In reality it took a couple of hours for them to find it, unfamiliar as they were with the area. At last they found it, a deep quiet place where most of the water seemed almost still. A finger of land jutted into the water creating a natural half-dam that protected the water just downstream and created a miniature lake.</p><p>"Let's find a place to camp," suggested Mac. They decided on a sand bar just upstream from the salmon hole. Unfortunately it was on the other side of the creek, which meant more wading. Mac was glad to reach it and begin setting up camp.</p><p>He had planned to fish for trout for dinner, but discovered that he was too tired. Hiking blind meant being constantly on guard against tripping or stumbling and it took a lot out of him. He contented himself with a granola bar and a handful of trail mix.</p><p>He needed to filter more water for his canteen and hang up his wet clothes. These chores done, he lowered himself onto his sleeping bag to rest.</p><p>He awoke with a start, and with the knowledge that something was wrong. Terribly, utterly wrong.</p><p>He lay silently on his sleeping bag, trying to discover what it was. Bear Creek with its ever-changing, never-varying layers of sound lay to his right. The light had faded toward twilight, meaning he had slept for a couple of hours. The summer air had cooled, and mosquitos buzzed around his face.</p><p>He closed his eyes, listening with his whole body.</p><p>Nothing. That's what was wrong. No noises from Christy or Puck. The dog usually curled up near his feet, but this time there was no bulk, no breathing or sighing as Puck usually did in his sleep.</p><p>There were also no strange noises. No footsteps, no rustle of cloth, no voices.</p><p>"Christy?" he whispered. No answer.</p><p>"Puck? Come here, boy!" he called in a stage whisper. No response.</p><p>Mac carefully sat up, wondering if bullets were about to start whizzing toward him.</p><p>"Christy?" he said louder. "Puck?"</p><p>Silence, punctuated only by the creek and the midges and mosquitos, surrounded him. He was completely alone.</p><p>Why would Christy leave? He wondered. And why would she take Puck? If strangers had entered their camp, wouldn't Puck have barked?</p><p>Starting from his sleeping bag, and working his way outward, Mac began to systematically explore the sand bar with his hands. With a feather touch, he took in the sand, river rock and a few small bushes that comprised their camp site. About six feet from his resting spot, he found some larger stones and felt that heat from a still-warm campfire that Christy had obviously made. To the right of the fire lay her backpack, with only one pocket opened. Probably her fire kit, Mac guessed. His fingers touched something else in the opened pocket. An inhaler. Why didn't she take that with her? Mac felt prickles rise up his spine. She needs that. He held it in his hand for a moment, and then slipped it into his pocket.</p><p>Continuing past Christy's pack, he didn't expect to find anything, so he nearly jumped back in surprise when his fingertips brushed against fur.</p><p>No! No, no, no, no, his mind cried. The very thing he had feared had happened. He had imagined himself learning to love a dog, trust a dog, and then losing it as a casualty of his dangerous lifestyle. He stayed frozen in place, right hand outstretched as the wind blew a tuft of fur against his outstretched fingers. Soft, dog fur, not bear fur. River rocks pushed against his knees and the breeze lifted a lock of his hair off his forehead.</p><p>Finally, he gave himself a mental shake. Touch the dog, he told himself sternly. You have to. Do it. Touch him.</p><p>Leaning forward, he placed a hand on the dog's side. Warmth. A shallow breath. He's still alive, Mac thought in profound relief.</p><p>Quickly he ran his hands all over the dog's body, looking for wounds or broken bones. He seemed to be fine. Except that he was sound asleep in the middle of the day and hadn't stirred or awoken at Mac's touch.</p><p>He felt Puck's side again, his gesture more of a loving stroke than anything else, and his fingers encountered something small and hard with a tufted end. It was a tranquilizer dart.</p><p>MacGyver sat back on his heels, thinking. Christy gone without her inhaler. A tranq dart that had not come from him. These clues could only add up to one conclusion. There were more people nearby than he had realized. And they didn't have friendliness in mind.</p>
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<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter 7</p><p>After some deliberation, Mac decided finding Christy was more urgent than waiting around for Puck to wake up. Once he did come out of his drugged slumber, the dog would be fine, but time was of the essence in finding Christy.</p><p>He walked back to where his sleeping bag and pack sat on the sand and hurriedly repacked it. He drew out his folded cane from the bottom of his pack, and also took down his clothesline.</p><p>With his cane tip, he located Christy's pack again and took out her inhaler, slipping it into his pocket. He performed a quick but thorough search for any more medications but didn't find anything.</p><p>Then he stood up, cane in hand listening to the ripples of Bear Creek wondering which way to go. If he could see, he would have begun by looking for footprints or signs of a struggle. He frowned in frustration.</p><p>He went over in his mind what he knew so far. He sensed that Christy was in danger; that she hadn't left their camp voluntarily and wasn't just off exploring. He knew she had a curious, inquisitive mind and wouldn't be completely helpless unless she was incapacitated. Something nagged at the back of his mind. Something to do with her curiosity.</p><p>He replayed scenes in his head from the past two days. The plane trip, cooking last night's meal, today's hike.</p><p>He wished she had given more information about her asthma; it could be dangerous for her to not have her inhaler and he didn't know how bad it was.</p><p>He thought about their conversation about the maps, and then… the tracker! Of course! Had she kept the salmon tracker he had handed to her? If that was in her pocket, he might have a good chance of finding her after all!</p><p>He set his pack down again and dug into it until he found the radio receiver. This one wasn't as powerful as the one back at the Phoenix Foundation; it was only a small localized one that picked up on the direction of the signal to confirm that it was working properly.</p><p>He and Pete had built it both with a lighted display and with a beeping sound that he could use without seeing the display. It was a palm-sized box of smooth black plastic with an extendable antenna protruding from the center top.</p><p>He switched it on.</p><p>If she wasn't too far away, the beeps should become closer together when the antenna pointed toward the tracker, that is if he had the right frequency.</p><p>At first, the receiver indicated that it was picking up only transmissions from his own pack, where the rest of the minuscule transmitters were stashed. He carefully turned the tuning knobs. Finally he located a different frequency, one that seemed to be more at a distance.</p><p>He pointed the antenna up and down the trail, listening carefully so he could determine which direction to take to follow the radio signal that he hoped was still in Christy's pocket.</p><p>The beeping sounded slightly faster when he pointed the antenna down the trail, back in the direction from which they had come, and so he set off that way, walking carefully and deliberately along the rocky trail, his cane sweeping from side to side, feeling the dip of the worn trail and wild grasses on each side of the path he needed to follow.</p><p>It seemed to take less time than he had expected to hear the louder swirl of water where Bear Creek poured into the Selway River. As it grew louder, the noise of the river began to drown out the beep from the small, battery operated box he held in his hand, but he had already decided which way it told him to go, and without hesitation, he turned south.</p><p>All around him, the late evening faded into twilight. For a while he could dimly see the shapes of trees standing sentinel all around him, but after the sun slipped behind the western crags, and the light changed to a dusky purple, everything began to blend together visually into the approaching night. Mosquitoes and gnats fizzed around his face and he swatted them away. Farther from the river, crickets began their nighttime song, but rather than giving him a peaceful feeling, they only served to remind him of the passing of time and his urgent need to find Christy and learn who had taken her and why. The songbirds he had unconsciously been hearing all day began to hush, and he heard the hoot of an owl beginning its nocturnal hunting. The air around him grew chilly.</p><p>After several miles of hiking south toward the source of the river, he stopped at a place where the trail didn't quite hug the river and he could hear the peeping of his radio receiver better.</p><p>As he swung it in an arc, listening intently, he thought the faster beeps sounded from across the river, not upstream. He wished he could see the display for visual confirmation, but he supposed that what he had would be sufficient.</p><p>His next order of business was to cross the Selway, and without Christy's eyes, he was going to have trouble locating a good spot. He paced slowly along the trail, listening hard. The river, which had seemed like nothing more than a mishmash of water sounds, began to take on life and character as he concentrated only upon it. In some parts it ran along quietly, with only the edges making a ripple. Then, 100 yards further, the sounds came in layers, when shallower water chattered over stones in a wide bed. That was what he needed to find.</p><p>Mac prodded the bracken at the side of the trail with his cane and hands, searching for a way through to the river. He found a space and squeezed through. Once at the water, he gritted his teeth and stepped down and into the cold water. Knowing he'd need to cross soon and also aware that the rattlers tended to curl up inside their rocky dens at night, he had put on his water shoes at his last snack break, tying his boots to his pack by their laces.</p><p>Now, he wished he had cut himself a wooden staff to keep his balance as he waded across the river. He managed not to topple as he slipped and skidded over the algae-covered rounded rocks, and though the river was wider than he'd imagined, he at last reached the opposite bank without mishap.</p><p>Once he was across the river, MacGyver checked the radio receiver again. It pointed to the east, up the mountain that he now faced in the darkness of early night. He squatted on the ground and retrieved his wad of maps. Shuffling through to the map of the Upper Selway basin, he tried to judge the distance he'd traveled that afternoon. As closely as he could tell, the mountain that he faced was called Elevator Mountain, part of a chain named the Selway Crags. It took him a frustratingly long time to decipher the braille letters on the map, and he promised himself he'd find some time to practice soon.</p><p>He put the maps away again, and began searching the ground for a walking stick. The way ahead had no trail, and he decided he needed something more than his cane to balance himself and find his way forward. Luckily, he located a piece of deadfall that would work; it was two fingers thick at the larger end, six feet long and fairly straight.</p><p>Shrugging into his heavy pack, he settled it in place, found his balance, and started up the hill.</p><p>For the first several hundred yards, he worked his way through a pine wood, the branches of the trees reaching out toward him to claw at his face and jacket in the darkness. Soon, however, the trees thinned out and the space around him opened into a steep mountain meadow. Dry, brittle grass crackled underfoot and the ground still gave off a faint warmth and bready smell of grasses and wildflowers warmed in the sun. Off to his right, an owl hooted loudly, making him jump, and the flapping wings of a bird or a bat rustled in the treetops. He paused for a moment, closing his eyes, imagining the sky awash with stars, and the rising moon bathing the meadow in silver light.</p><p>He did not pause long, because the feel of Christy's inhaler in his pocket reminded him that he needed to hurry. Sweeping the hillside ahead of him with his cane, he discovered an outcropping of rocks, which he skirted to the left and continued to climb.</p><p>At the highest edge of the meadow, he paused again to catch his breath and listen. The sound of the river had faded, and all around him was the soothing quiet of nighttime in the forest: not silent but still peaceful.</p><p>Into this solitude broke a sudden crackle and the sound of a man's voice, so near that MacGyver jumped again.</p><p>"There," the voice said. "That should keep it going for a while."</p><p>Another voice grunted a reply, and MacGyver heard the popping of a campfire ahead and to the left of him. He couldn't see its glow, so he guessed it was hidden behind a tree or rock, but he felt glad he hadn't made enough noise to alert the strangers to his presence. He shivered with apprehension.</p><p>He wondered if Christy was there with the two men. If so, why had they taken her? What was their purpose in this remote location?</p><p>He stood still for quite some time, listening and thinking about what to do.</p><p>At one point, one of the men commented, "heard a big cat out there a while back. Mountain lion or cougar, I'd guess."</p><p>The hairs on MacGyver's neck prickled.</p><p>"Don't worry about it," said the other lazily. "You have your Winchester, and if we see it up close, my Colt will do the trick. Just put another log on the fire and go to bed."</p><p>Mac appreciated knowing which guns the men had, but he still needed more information. Where was Christy?</p><p>He heard the rustling of sleeping rolls being unfurled. A slight echo in the sounds made him guess that the men were in a cave, not out in the open. Footsteps crunched on the gritty floor.</p><p>"Here," the first man said gruffly, "drink."</p><p>"Let me go!" The voice was Christy's, although it sounded forced and raspy to MacGyver, and the breaths she drew next had the labored wheeze that Mac recognized as asthma. He wondered why he hadn't heard them before, but guessed they had been muffled by some kind of gag.</p><p>"We won't hurt you if you play nice and do as you're told," put in the second man. "We just can't have you running to the Rangers before we're through up here."</p><p>Christy gave a low moan as her heavy breathing was muffled again.</p><p>A few more scrapes and rustles ensued, and then footsteps crunched through the underbrush so near to the place Mac stood he could have reached out his hand and touched the man. He stood perfectly still, waiting in the shadows.</p><p>The man relieved himself and then pushed back through the bushes to the cave where his footsteps crunched on gravelly sand. With a grunt, he pulled off his boots and lay down. Mac stood still, waiting.</p><p>In the old days he would have rushed the men, fists swinging, but that was when he could see. Now he would have to use his head more and his fists less if he didn't want to get shot.</p><p>He listened for clues that the men had fallen asleep. It was agonizing. Every time he was sure they must have dozed off, there was a rustle as one or the other turned over on his hard bed. The fire stopped its crackle and settled into embers.</p><p>Just as MacGyver was about to head stealthily into the cave, he heard a rustle in the trees overhead. From just behind and above came a shrill scream like the scream of a terrified woman. He knew what it was. A mountain lion, poised on a branch above him, stood ready to spring.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter 8</p><p>Mac acted on pure instinct. He slid his pack off his shoulders, hoping it would divert the big cat. He swung his cane in a waist-high arc ahead of him until it hit the immobile trunk of a tall tree. Ignoring the hooked branch that tore at his face, he rushed forward to slide behind the tree trunk, placing its girth between himself and the giant feline.</p><p>It was not a moment too soon. Just as he dashed behind the tree, he heard the weight of the cat's pounce and it landed on his backpack, the fabric tearing under its ripping extended claws.</p><p>A pistol shot rang out in the darkness, near enough to MacGyver's ear that for a few moments he could only hear an echoing ring. He could smell the acrid powder from the bullet.</p><p>Footsteps pounded past him down the hill and there was another gunshot and the falling of the heavy body.</p><p>"Oh shit," said the first man's voice.</p><p>"What is it?" asked the second man.</p><p>"A backpack," replied the first, kneeling beside Mac's torn gear.</p><p>"Forest Service?" asked the second.</p><p>"Nah, too fancy. Not an outfitter either," said the first, and Mac's limited vision was suddenly washed white with the beam of a flashlight shining full on his face.</p><p>"Who are you?" challenged the first man, and Mac heard the ominous sound of the hammer being drawn back on the Colt.</p><p>Dropping his walking stick, but retaining his cane loosely against his thumb, Mac raised both hands, palms open toward the two men.</p><p>"Name's MacGyver," he said calmly, squinting against the searing light. He wondered how many times he'd used that calm voice while being held at gunpoint. Too many.</p><p>"What are you doing up here?" demanded the second man, but before Mac could answer, the first cut in.</p><p>"It's the guy who was asleep!" he said disbelievingly. "Back in the camp with the girl."</p><p>The flashlight left Mac's face, evidently playing over his jacket and the cane still dangling from his raised right hand. Mac's eyes, in response to the bright light, flashed greens and purples in his head.</p><p>"Wait, you're not…" began the first man.</p><p>"Blind?" finished Mac wryly, thinking how ironic it was that this conversation happened predictably even in the tension of gunpoint.</p><p>"You're hiking around out here blind?" the first man asked with a laugh that sounded almost like a snort. The tension in the air eased and the hammer of the gun clicked back into place, now lowered at the man's side.</p><p>"Fuck yeah, he's blind," countered the other man. "He's a liar."</p><p>The flashlight shone again in Mac's eyes, making him suck in a breath against the pain. They must have been satisfied by the white layer over his irises because the flashlight was dropped, and the man only said, "Huh."</p><p>The other snort-laughed again. "Now I seen everything."</p><p>"Better come with us," said the second man, firmly taking Mac's upper arm and turning him toward the cave. The other picked up Mac's pack with a grunt.</p><p>With his eyes still sparkling and his heart still racing, Mac had no trouble stumbling and tripping while the man shoved him uphill toward the cave. He wanted to appear helpless, but right at the moment it wasn't much of an act.</p><p>The arch of stone at the cave's entrance was low enough that he grazed his forehead, adding to his current misery. He was roughly shoved to a sitting position against a rocky outcrop and his hands were tied with a length of sisal rope. The men then returned to the fire and Mac's pack, which they began unzipping and rifling through his stuff.</p><p>Next to Mac, he heard a wriggle and a small hopeful "ungh?"</p><p>"Christy?" he whispered.</p><p>With his tied hands, he awkwardly dug into his right front pocket and fished out her inhaler, holding it up to show her. Then he reached out toward her, slowly, carefully and quietly so as not to attract attention.</p><p>He first felt her boots then ankles tied, then her pants. He hated having to feel up her leg but she seemed to understand his intent and lay still. Her hands were tied behind her back and she lay on her side. He carefully scooted until he could gently lower the cloth tied around her face and place the inhaler between her lips.</p><p>The men, intent on examining his pack, were not paying attention, as far as he could tell, and when one made a noise, he carefully squeezed the canister, delivering a puff of the medicine into her mouth. She breathed in and held her breath for a moment then exhaled.</p><p>"Again," she whispered and he administered another dose.</p><p>He left the gag around her chin, giving the appearance of being in place but allowing her room to breathe freely. He sat back in his place beside her feet, thinking.</p><p>"Lay down," ordered the first man. Mac obediently lay on the ground next to Christy, his bound hands cupped around the inhaler. The man tossed Mac's sleeping bag haphazardly over them both and returned to his own roll near the fire, which Mac could now dimly see.</p><p>Mac felt immensely pleased. He had barely been tied, which he attributed to their perception of his helplessness. Well, that was their mistake!</p><p>With the sleeping bag shielding his movements from the two men, he gently set the inhaler on the ground so that his hands were empty to feel in his pocket again for his knife. It was still there and he snapped open it's familiar sharp blade. In no time, he had cut through the ropes that circled his wrists, and he quietly rolled toward Christy. Since her wrists were tied behind her back, he had a harder time reaching them, but she helpfully rolled toward him so they were nearer, then once they were free, pulled her ankles toward him to cut those cords too.</p><p>He wondered if there was enough light for Christy to see a gesture. He felt around the cave for a couple of larger, fist-sized rocks. Up here, away from the river, the rocks were jagged pieces of granite basalt, square and heavy with sharp corners. He set one in Christy's now-free hands, after giving her the inhaler she badly needed. He decided to assume gestures were a no-go, since the fire had died down again, so when he handed her the rock, he tapped the back of her head. She nodded in understanding, and they both rose to a crouch as soundlessly as they could.</p><p>He realized that Christy could see where to strike, but he could not. He closed his eyes in frustration, but as he did so, he felt Christy take his hand. Relief swept over him at her level-headedness. She had sensed his predicament.</p><p>Together they moved toward the two men whose backs were turned at the moment.</p><p>Christy closed three of Mac's fingers until he was pointing. Then she lowered his arm and held it in a position she apparently liked. At that moment, she let go and began tiptoeing to his right.</p><p>Mac didn't know how far he had to go, but he knew the element of surprise was his best ally at the moment. When he heard Christy move, he lunged forward in the direction she had made him point.</p><p>"What the…?" exclaimed the first man but the second didn't have time to cry out. Mac heard a dull crack as Christy's rock collided with his skull.</p><p>Mac's hand caught the man's stocking cap as he was in the act of lunging for his gun. The cap came off in Mac's hand and he tossed it aside. Dropping his rock, he grabbed at the man's shirt with his left hand. He heard a scrabble on the sandy floor of the cave and used his left foot to kick the gun away from the man's reaching grasp. In doing so, however, he was thrown off balance and the man shoved him backward. He recovered quickly and resumed his attack before the man could get to his gun again. This time, his right hand found a fistful of the flannel shirt the man wore and he swung a left hook toward the man's face. He connected and felt the satisfying pain race up his knuckles. This left the man dazed long enough for him to switch hands and throw a right hook this time. By the time he had done this, Christy calmly walked up to them and hit him with her rock. The man slumped to the floor.</p><p>"Nice work," complimented MacGyver. "Let's get my stuff and get out of here."</p><p>Christy agreed and together they repacked all the items from Mac's backpack that were strewn around the cave.</p><p>"Do you want to take their guns?" Christy asked.</p><p>"No," began MacGyver, but then had a second thought. "But hand them to me anyway," he directed.</p><p>She did, and watched him fill the chambers with sand.</p><p>"Hope they don't meet another mountain lion," she commented dryly, and Mac chuckled.</p><p>He hitched his pack up onto his back and asked to take her elbow so she could lead the way. She was taller than he'd expected, although he remembered that her file stated that her height was 5' 6".</p><p>"It's pretty dark out there," said Christy. "I don't think I'm going to be much of a guide."</p><p>"I didn't pack a flashlight," stated Mac with a smile. "Didn't think I'd need one."</p><p>"I suppose I could borrow one of theirs," said Christy. "Do you think they'd mind?"</p><p>"Probably," said Mac.</p><p>They started out through the dark woods. Christy shined the "borrowed" flashlight ahead of her, and Mac held to her elbow, following her movement as well as he could and fending off tree branches that never failed to surprise him.</p><p>"Who are these guys, anyway? Did you hear them say what they were doing?" he asked as they walked.</p><p>Instead of answering, Christy stopped and turned toward Mac. "How in the world did you find me?" she asked, suddenly realizing how miraculous it seemed that he was here.</p><p>"Turn out your pockets," he said.</p><p>She put her hands into the pockets of her jeans.</p><p>"My inhaler," she said, sounding puzzled.</p><p>"Look again," he instructed.</p><p>"Oh, the transmitter for the salmon!" she exclaimed. "You tracked that?"</p><p>"Yep," he said. "But why did those guys kidnap you in the first place?"</p><p>"I was walking along the trail by Bear Creek above our camp," she began, resuming her progress down the hill. "When those two guys came hurrying down the trail toward me. I said hello, just being friendly. You know. One guy had a dart gun in his hand and started babbling about doing research on the brown bears. The other guy told him to shut up and quit being an idiot, and some other stuff."</p><p>"Go on," said MacGyver, intrigued.</p><p>"Well, one of the guys asked me if I knew the way to Elevator Mountain. Apparently they had gotten a bit lost. I told them I didn't but if they wanted to wait, I could go get my map and also show them where the ranger station was. They got all nervous when I said that, and then the bigger guy, you know the one you hit? He grabbed me. They tied me up there on the trail, which seemed really dumb since someone coming along would know something was up. But then they hurried along down the trail again. When we got to our campsite, you were asleep but Puck woke up and started coming toward us. He wasn't growling or barking or anything, but the guy with the dart gun panicked and shot him."</p><p>"That explains it," mused MacGyver, half to himself.</p><p>"Then they hurried along again carrying me for what seemed like forever. They must have found the place they were looking for, because they put me down in the cave and built a fire not too long before you came."</p><p>"Did they say who they were? Call each other by name? Say what they were looking for?" queried MacGyver.</p><p>"Let me think. The smaller guy did call the bigger one Frank. He seemed to be in charge. He got all mad when the other guy said it and told him I'd overhear and tell the Rangers."</p><p>"You didn't hear the other one's name?" asked Mac.</p><p>"I don't think so," replied Christy.</p><p>"I wonder what they were doing that made them want to avoid the Rangers?" said MacGyver rhetorically.</p><p>"They kept saying they needed to find the cave," said Christy.</p><p>It hit MacGyver then.</p><p>"The cave! A cave on Elevator Mountain, he said," exclaimed MacGyver.</p><p>"You mean Randall?" asked Christy skeptically. "The legend? But that was just a story. One of the tall tales that people tell around a campfire."</p><p>"Maybe not," countered MacGyver. "Or at least maybe Frank and Company don't think it's just a story."</p>
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<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter 9</p><p>By the time they reached the river again, the night was far along, and both were tired. Neither wanted to be around when the two men awoke and began looking for them. Christy had no gear, so neither were inclined to make camp and try to rest.</p><p>"Do you really think that Frank and Company are gold hunters?" Christy asked through chattering teeth. Their river crossing had felt icy despite the summertime days. She was still wet and tried to gain some warmth by walking, but the night air was cold.</p><p>"I'm not sure. What equipment did they have with them?" Mac asked, but suddenly gripped her shoulder. He had heard what sounded like something running softly along the trail. A mountain lion?</p><p>"What is it?" Asked Christy in alarm.</p><p>"Shh," said Mac shortly, listening with all of his consciousness.</p><p>Christy stood still, shivering with cold and fear. Darkness surrounded them, for the moonlight no longer shone down through the thickness of the trees. It was setting in the west and though Christy could see a sprinkling of stars, they didn't shed light to navigate. They had taken turns leading one another as Mac's cane was as useful in the dark as Christy's eyes.</p><p>Mac slipped in front of Christy, who was wearing his jacket. Mac put on several layers of flannel, but still didn't feel like getting attacked by a wild animal through only flannel shirts.</p><p>He heard the snapping of a stick again. Whatever it was had come closer. Much closer.</p><p>He held his cane in front of his body, the only weapon he possessed at short notice.</p><p>Heavy footfalls rounded the last bend, and Mac braced himself.</p><p>Two paws hit him on the shoulders and a long tongue swiped his face from chin to forehead.</p><p>"Puck!" Mac cried with joy. So great was his relief that his knees felt weak for a moment.</p><p>"It's Puck!" Echoed Christy.</p><p>Puck hugged Mac's leg with his head in a German Shepherd hug, and then went to greet Christy. Soon he was back with Mac, pressing his wriggling body against Mac's left leg and whimpering with happiness.</p><p>"You found us! Good boy!" Mac praised him.</p><p>He didn't have Puck's leash or harness with him; he'd left them back at the Bear Creek camp. He retrieved his clothesline from his pack and tied it loosely around the dog's neck to use as a makeshift leash.</p><p>Puck joyfully headed up the trail, pulling the line taut. Mac followed him, and Christy followed Mac. With the dog in the lead, they stumbled less and made better time.</p><p>At one point along the Selway trail, Puck hesitated and seemed to want to turn aside.</p><p>"What is is, Boy?" Asked Mac.</p><p>"He seems to want to take this other trail," Mac told Christy.</p><p>"Do you think that's where the Shearer guard station is?" Christy asked.</p><p>"You, know, I bet that's exactly what it is," replied Mac. "Let's go up there and see if we can stay the rest of the night with Randall and Jeanne."</p><p>They followed Puck up the left-hand trail. Before long, he was nosing the porch of the cabin. They found the stairs and knocked at the door.</p><p>"Who is it?" Called a sleepy Randall from inside.</p><p>"MacGyver," he replied.</p><p>"And Christy," she added.</p><p>He pulled Puck back beside him as Randall opened the door.</p><p>"Is something wrong?" Randall asked, now alert.</p><p>"Can we come in?" Mac asked.</p><p>"Of course, of course!" Randall replied, opening the door wider.</p><p>They entered the cabin and felt its warmth embrace them, although the fire in the stove had burned low. They each found benches and sat down. Mac heard Jeanne in the back corner pulling wood out of the box to rekindle the fire.</p><p>Randall lit the kerosene lamp and sat across from them.</p><p>"What's going on?" asked Randall with concern.</p><p>Christy told her part of the strange story, and Mac described how he had found her and how they had both escaped.</p><p>"Wow, that was smart, using the salmon tracker," commented Jeanne, coming to the table with a plate of something. "Would you like a cookie?" she offered.</p><p>"I'm concerned about having those guys up in that cave," said Randall, munching on his own cookie.</p><p>"Do you think they might be gold hunters?" asked MacGyver, feeling foolish, but wanting to know nonetheless.</p><p>"That old legend?" snorted Randall. "Nah, I been up there a buncha times. There isn't any gold in that old cave."</p><p>"They didn't have digging tools with them, now that I think about it," commented Christy thoughtfully.</p><p>"You said they had guns? What kind?" asked Randall.</p><p>"A Colt pistol and a Winchester rifle," answered MacGyver.</p><p>"Everyone up here has a gun," put in Jeanne. "Rand has his up in the loft. You don't want to run into a bear or a cougar without one."</p><p>"True, Mother," said Randall.</p><p>"They had some sacks and piles of stuff back in the cave, but I couldn't tell what it was," added Christy.</p><p>"Piles?" asked MacGyver. "Could they have been stashing drugs?"</p><p>"I don't know. I didn't get a good look," said Christy miserably.</p><p>"Well, I'll alert the Ranger at Moose Creek on the radio tomorrow," said Randall, rising stiffly from the table. "You two finish the night out here, and then you can collect the rest of your stuff and decide what to do. Can't anything more be done tonight."</p><p>Mac agreed and asked to be shown where the ladder to the loft was. He unrolled his sleeping bag and lay down gratefully, listening to Jeanne find an extra blanket or two for Christy to use downstairs.</p><p>In the morning, Mac was awakened by the smell of bacon and eggs frying and of coffee brewing. Although not food to his taste, and he planned to have his stash of hummus paste and vegetables for breakfast, he did have to admit, it smelled good.</p><p>"Where's my other sock?" growled Randall, and Mac felt his heart sink. Had he forgotten to tether Puck?</p><p>"Here it is, Rand," soothed Jeanne, and she returned to the stove where she and Christy were cooking.</p><p>Mac sighed with relief.</p><p>As he blearily made his way down the ladder, Jeanne offered a cup of coffee.</p><p>"Thanks, but I'll just have this smoothie mix that I brought," he replied, searching with his right foot to find the boots he had left near the door. He located them, slipped into them without tying the laces and went out onto the porch, breathing deeply of the fresh, mountain air.</p><p>Once he had visited the outhouse and washed his face and hands, he felt more awake. He retrieved his preferred breakfast items from his pack, and joined Christy at the sink.</p><p>"What's that?" she asked with distaste.</p><p>"Protein smoothie mix," he answered with a grin. "Want some?"</p><p>"I'll pass, thanks," she said.</p><p>As Mac sat at the table, crunching celery sticks dipped in hummus, he thought about the two men up in the cave. Something about the situation bothered him.</p><p>"I want to go back up there," he announced.</p><p>"To the cave?" asked Christy.</p><p>"I want to find out what those men are doing," continued MacGyver.</p><p>"Better wait for the Ranger," said Jeanne.</p><p>"You said it would take all day for him to ride here from Moose Creek if he is even there, right?" asked Mac. "I don't want to wait that long."</p><p>"I'll go with you," offered Randall.</p><p>"Sure," Mac accepted.</p><p>"I want to get my stuff," said Christy sadly.</p><p>"Why don't you and I hike over to Bear Creek together?" asked Jeanne. "You'll feel safer if you aren't alone."</p><p>"Oh, that would be great," said Christy eagerly.</p><p>"It's settled then," said Jeanne. "You two be careful up there."</p><p>An hour and a half later, MacGyver walked behind Randall, one hand on his shoulder. He'd decided to leave Puck back at the cabin. For one thing he didn't want Puck getting hurt, and for another, he didn't have Puck's harness, and though leash-guiding with only a clothesline would do in a pinch, it wasn't what Mac preferred. So he's left Puck shut in the cabin, after warning Randall and Jeanne to put their shoes and shocks out of harm's way.</p><p>Randall stopped suddenly.</p><p>"This is the best place to cross the river," he remarked.</p><p>"Do you see a stick that I can use as a walking staff?" asked MacGyver.</p><p>Randall stepped off the path and Mac heard the sound of dry branches cracking. He came back with a long, sturdy branch, which he handed to MacGyver. Mac pulled out his pocketknife and began slicing off the smaller side twigs and peeling rough bark. While he did this, Randall changed his shoes.</p><p>"Do you need help or…?" Randall began awkwardly.</p><p>"This part is probably easier on my own, actually," replied Mac, extending his cane and feeling for the edge of the trail.</p><p>With Randall to find a path through the brush, getting to the river itself turned out to be quite a bit easier than last night. Once again, Mac gritted his teeth against the cold, the slick footing and the tugging water. He was learning to take his time and just keep going. Keeping his balance was by far the most difficult part of the water crossings, because the flowing tugging mass of water that swirled around his shins and knees made his perception of the horizon skew and he leaned heavily on the wooden staff.</p><p>He didn't hear Randall pushing through the bushes on the other side of the river, but once he arrived, he discovered that Randall had moved a little of the way up the hill, scouting their path ahead.</p><p>Now, he came back, pulling on Mac's elbow as he climbed the bank out of the water. The motion nearly threw Mac off-balance again, and he requested that he be allowed to take Randall's arm instead so he could follow the other man's movement instead of being unexpectedly pulled.</p><p>"There is a path up here, somewhere," muttered Randall under his breath. "I haven't been this way for a while," he added apologetically.</p><p>It hadn't even occurred to Mac to look for a trail last night in the dark. He had just plunged up the hill. Today, though, the light filtering through the trees seemed mellow and he could make out the shape of the tree trunks through the filmy white scars that covered his eyes. When Randall located the path that snaked up the mountain using switchbacks, he could see the form of the man in front of him and follow him visually, a rare occurrence, and one that he enjoyed.</p><p>They chatted as they walked: Randall told more of the backcountry legends that he loved and Mac told about a few of his adventures working for the Phoenix Foundation.</p><p>After several switchbacks, when they had climbed quite high, Randall put his hand on Mac's arm to signal for silence. Mac stood still, listening. He guessed that they were quite near the cave, and he could tell they were in one of the open meadows that dotted the side of the hill. Mac turned to look back the way they had come, hoping he could see a bit of the view, but in this he was thwarted. He closed his eyes instead, listening to the sound of empty space and the echoing cry of a hawk gliding down the valley below him.</p><p>Randall's footsteps stealthily moved in the direction of the cave, and Mac followed, holding his cane gingerly between his fingertips so as to lightly feel the smallest hint of sticks or brush that could give him away.</p><p>Unexpectedly, Randall gave a smothered exclamation and stepped to the right a few paces, kneeling down to look at something he'd found. Mac had already guessed what it was: the mountain lion. In the summer sun, the carcass had already begun to smell and he could hear flies clustering in the area.</p><p>"Better write this down for the Ranger," murmured Randall, and his clothes rustled as he pulled out a small notebook.</p><p>Mac had a pretty good idea where he stood in relation to the cave, so he slowly started walking that way while Randall was writing in his logbook. About where he expected them to, the trees gave way to a small clearing, and he put out his left hand to touch the rocky side of the cave. He had purposefully approached it from the side, so he was less noticeable, although he discovered that without the darkness in which to hide, he felt exposed and vulnerable. He couldn't see their sightlines, and so had only a guess as to whether he himself was out of sight.</p><p>Apart from Randall a few yards behind and to his right, he heard nothing. No rustling, no breathing, no fire crackling. He wondered if the two men could still be unconscious. He listened hard for a full two minutes but heard nothing in the cave.</p><p>Slowly, carefully, he stepped up onto the lip of the cave and into its opening. He expected at any moment to hear voices or movement, but even after stepping directly into the opening, he heard only silence in front of him.</p><p>Reversing his grip on the cane handle, he used it to trace a wide arc in front of his feet. It hit on something not too hard, and found mostly open space. He stepped forward. The thing his cane tip had encountered was a half-burned log, cooled and covered on one side with powdery charcoal and on the other with bark. He had found the fire.</p><p>On either side of the fire, the floor of the cave was empty. He explored further to each side until he found the place where he and Christy had been tied. Then he continued systematically toward the back of the cave.</p><p>His forehead connected with a rock on the sloping ceiling, and he winced. Left hand raised as a guard, he continued searching the back of the cave. His cane hit something covered in canvas, and he knelt to examine it. It was not burlap sacks nor was it crates as he had anticipated. It was something lumpy and covered with a grimy canvas tarp. His hands found the lower edge then followed it to the corner where he pulled it back and cautiously touched whatever lay underneath.</p><p>"What is it?" asked Randall, coming into the cave himself. He looked over Mac's shoulder and whistled softly.</p>
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<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter 10</p><p>Piles upon piles of semi-automatic and automatic weapons lay stacked on the cave floor. Mac didn't count all of the rifles that he touched but there seemed to be dozens. He sat back on his heels, narrowing his eyes in thought.</p><p>"I thought we'd find drug smuggling," said Randall quietly. "It's not often the smugglers come this far into the backcountry; usually they find it quicker to use 93 over in Montana to get from Mexico to Canada, but once in a while someone seems to need to come hide out back here."</p><p>"That's what I expected too," agreed MacGyver in puzzlement. "This looks like enough hardware to outfit an army, but way out here there isn't anyone to use it." His brow furrowed in frustration.</p><p>"The men you knocked cold aren't here," said Randall, stating the obvious.</p><p>"Yeah, they took off already. That's kinda strange too," agreed MacGyver. "They weren't too worried about us. It's like they had something else they were working on…"</p><p>"...That was time-sensitive," finished Randall. "They didn't try to come find you at Shearer or go look for your camp on Bear Creek again; at least I hope not," he said, his voice full of worry for Jeanne and Christy.</p><p>"Should we leave these and just tell the Ranger?" asked MacGyver. "Or should we try and get rid of them somehow?"</p><p>"Well, they aren't using these to poach deer, unless they plan to absolutely vaporize them," said Randall wryly, pick up a rifle with a metallic clank. "It's not exactly a Winchester."</p><p>He placed it in Mac's hands, and after feeling the stock, barrel, grip and magazine decided it was probably a Beretta AR-70.</p><p>"Italian gun," he said thoughtfully. Expensive. These guys aren't playing around. "A stockpile of weapons in a warehouse somewhere makes sense. A stockpile of weapons in a cave in the backcountry doesn't make sense at all."</p><p>"Nothin' out here to steal, that's for sure," joked Randall.</p><p>"No gold after all?" asked MacGyver with a grin.</p><p>"None that I've ever found," replied Randall, half-seriously. "Could use some too."</p><p>"What do you do with the rest of your year when you aren't out here mowing down airstrips by hand?" asked MacGyver, setting the rifle on the pile and flipping the corner of the tarp back down over it.</p><p>"I'm retired," answered Randall. "Used to be a BLM guy," he added.</p><p>"Bureau of Land Management. Did you help get the Wilderness Act passed?" asked Mac curiously.</p><p>"Hell no," said Randall. "Those politicians back in Washington don't have a clue!"</p><p>Mac disagreed but held his tongue. He didn't need to get into a political battle.</p><p>Using his cane to find his way, Mac walked to the mouth of the cave and sat down on the lip where the floor dropped several feet to the side of the hill. He pulled a sandwich from his pack and began munching. The sun had begun its westward arc and shone full in his face. He pulled his canteen of water from a side pocket and drank long and deeply, reflecting that sometimes it was when life became stripped to its bare essentials that he felt the most alive.</p><p>Randall joined him in his sunny spot and began eating his own lunch.</p><p>"It's where these guys are taking the guns that worries me," commented MacGyver. "They're arming someone pretty heavily."</p><p>"Why here?" Randall asked, puzzled. "It's so inconvenient for transport."</p><p>"Well maybe your Magruder legend isn't that far off," said MacGyver. "There's a passage straight through and it's the last place anyone would look."</p><p>"I'm worried they'll be back and catch us up here," said Randall uneasily.</p><p>"You'd see them coming," Mac reminded him.</p><p>"They didn't see you," argued Randall.</p><p>"It was dark," explained Mac. "Plus I didn't use the trail. I didn't know there was one."</p><p>"Even so," Randall continued, "I'd rather get out of here and let the authorities deal with this mess."</p><p>MacGyver wasn't anywhere near ready to give up, but he did agree there wasn't anything more to be done at the moment, and getting caught again did not appeal to him at all.</p><p>He and Randall spent most of the afternoon hiking back down to the river, taking a side excursion to locate some blackberry bushes that Randall knew about and pick some for dinner. Mac hadn't ever tasted ripe blackberries straight off the bush under a hot summer sun and he thought there was much that could beat them, although finding the berries amid the prickly branches of the bushes proved to be a bit tricky to accomplish by touch alone.</p><p>"Did you get any of the salmon study done?" asked Randall once their sacks were full of berries.</p><p>"Not yet," answered Mac glumly. He was beginning to feel tired and frustrated.</p><p>"Well, looks like you'll only be set back by a couple of days," comforted Randall, but Mac wasn't listening. He was thinking about the stockpile of guns and wondering where they were headed.</p><p>Later that evening, he sat glumly at the rough table in the Shearer Guard Station cabin, listening to the banter between Christy and Jeanne as they heated cans of soup for dinner. Randall had gone outside, and so had Puck.</p><p>Mac wondered what he ought to do next. He could ignore the cave and guns altogether. He and Christy could go on with the Salmon population study as if nothing had happened. Or they could go to Moose Creek and enlist the help of the Forest Service law enforcement. He wished he could speak with Pete.</p><p>As he listened to Christy, who apparently was in a cheerful mood after recovering her pack and the rest of their gear from the Bear Creek camp, he made a decision. They were both in danger as long as the men they had encountered were in the area. They already knew too much. He didn't want to keep putting Christy in more danger, but there wasn't a good place for her to go at the moment. He wondered if she could stay with Randall and Jeanne for a couple of days.</p><p>As for his own plan, that seemed harder to decide. He needed more information on the plans of the two men from the cave before he could best decide what to do. As much as he disliked the idea, he needed to go back to the cave again. Alone.</p><p>He decided not to tell Randall, Jeanne or Christy about his plan, lest they insist on coming with him. After dinner, as everyone sat on the front porch shooting the breeze, he casually rearranged his gear into a smaller bundle in his day pack. He wanted to leave the salmon study equipment behind. Thankfully, no one seemed to pay much attention to anything he was doing.</p><p>Waiting until everyone was asleep, he quietly shut Puck in the cabin. He wished he could take the dog with him, but it was just too dangerous.</p><p>Shouldering the day pack that he had prepared earlier, he stepped off the porch and took a minute to breathe and listen. Night noises filled the air: the rustle of a bat, the song of crickets. Bearing left across the clearing, he had no trouble locating the worn path between sunken rocks that headed in the direction of the river. His cane followed the trail, and he automatically turned right along the Selway River trail.</p><p>The hardest part of this third journey to the cave was judging distance. Several times he thought he heard the shallow ford where he had crossed before but it was hard to be sure. Finally he just had to guess and he forded the river, its surface glinting with fractured moonlight.</p><p>Once across, he searched for the trail that Randall had mentioned earlier in the day. He had to cross the face of the hill several times, ranging farther each time before he struck it, and by then he needed rest and a snack.</p><p>He leaned against a tree, legs crossed, as he ate a pita filled with hummus and drank a little from his canteen. Then, he quietly made his way up the trail, listening as he approached the cave.</p><p>As before he heard nothing, and he felt his way inside in the dark. There was no smell of fresh fire and no new gear that he could discover. He made his way back to the far back left corner of the cave, stooping to avoid another crack on the head. Then he sat down to wait.</p><p>He didn't realize he had fallen asleep until he was awakened by voices on the trail below the mouth of the cave.</p><p>"...your lazy ass up here," he recognized Frank's voice. "Marley, what the hell? What are you doing down there?"</p><p>Mac couldn't hear the other man's reply, but Frank snorted and called down, "well, piss faster. We need to get these damn things loaded."</p><p>The other man said something indistinct, and Mac saw a vague brightening of the cave's interior when Frank shone his flashlight around the small space. He sat quietly, his hands resting on his raised knees, his back against a rock. He expected any second to have the beam of the flashlight pick out his form but Frank wasn't as thorough as he'd expected. He also seemed to be in a hurry.</p><p>Marley joined him in the cave and the two men threw aside the tarp that covered the weapons. Carefully but quickly they began transferring them to another location a few feet away. At first MacGyver couldn't tell why they were being moved, until he heard the creak of wood and he realized they were crating the guns.</p><p>"Twenty more minutes," said Frank desperately. They'll be up there and we aren't going to be ready. "That stupid girl set us back way too long. We never should have messed with her."</p><p>"Oh, and have her go to the Rangers?" Asked Marley with sarcasm. "You were the one who was so fussed about that."</p><p>"And she probably is there now," replied Frank. "But even if they come tomorrow they'll be too late. If we get this load finished."</p><p>At that point he moved down the pile to his left far enough that his flashlight beam grazed over MacGyver, still sitting calmly next to the pile of weapons.</p><p>"What the hell?" Frank exclaimed.</p><p>"Hi Fellas," greeted Macagyver nonchalantly.</p><p>"It's the blind guy!" said Marley incredulously. "What are you doing here? Are you stupid or something?"</p>
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<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter 11</p><p>"Guess I just wanted to apologize for letting the girl hit you," said MacGyver easily. "And sorta hoped to catch a ride with you folks."</p><p>"A ride?" asked Marley, perplexed.</p><p>"We don't have time for this," growled Frank.</p><p>"You're crating them up for what, a chopper coming in?" guessed MacGyver.</p><p>"Not your business," said Frank testily.</p><p>"Nope, you're right, it's not," agreed MacGyver in a friendly tone.</p><p>"What are you, a Ranger?" asked Marley over his shoulder as he loaded crates.</p><p>"Do I look like a Ranger?" asked Mac reasonably.</p><p>"A blind Ranger?" Frank sneered. "And no uniform," he added.</p><p>"Well, how'd he get away earlier?" asked Marley, coming back for more guns.</p><p>"Maybe you're not really blind," concluded Frank, shining his flashlight on Mac's face. Painful as the beam of light felt in the darkness of the cave, he lifted his scarred eyes to stare steadily into its beam.</p><p>"He sure as hell looks blind," Frank answered himself. Mac continued sitting calmly.</p><p>"Why are you up here?" Marley asked again.</p><p>"Thought maybe you guys could give me a ride out of here," said Mac again. "On your chopper?"</p><p>Frank snorted. "Won't even be room for us on that thing," he said bitterly.</p><p>"Huh. You must be getting paid pretty good then, to be willing to hike all over the place out here," Mac commented.</p><p>"Not as good as we could be," said Marley under his breath, but Frank cut him off.</p><p>"Shut up and help me," he said, dragging another crate closer."</p><p>"Maybe I can be of some service," offered MacGyver casually.</p><p>"What can you do, Blind Man," said Marley dismissively. "You certainly aren't helping load these damn crates, are you?"</p><p>"I'd probably slow you down," admitted MacGyver ruefully. "Nah, I'm talking about help in other ways. Talking. Negotiations."</p><p>"Negotiations for what?" asked Frank skeptically.</p><p>"Better pay, maybe. Leniency, possibly," said Mac easily.</p><p>"Leniency?" said Marley nervously. "How does he know? He's a plant! He's here to watch us!" Marley's voice rose in pitch with every word, paranoia cracking his voice.</p><p>"A blind guy?" replied Frank with even more skepticism. "That doesn't sound like Fist's style. He doesn't have a sense of humor."</p><p>"Were you sent by Fist to watch us?" asked Marley.</p><p>"Now do you think I'd tell you if I was?" Mac asked.</p><p>In the distance they could hear the faint hum of helicopter blades.</p><p>"Shit," said Frank. "We got to get these boxes up the hill."</p><p>"Show me what to do and I'll help," offered Mac.</p><p>"Carry one end of this one," said Frank in a rush as he turned from nailing on a lid.</p><p>"Marley is it?" asked Mac. "You'd better go first." He stood stiffly to his feet, raising a hand above his head to find the rocky ceiling. He used it to feel his way forward toward the spot where Frank had been hammering. When his foot found the edge of the long wooden crate, he bent to pick up the end. The crate tilted and leveled as Marley picked up the other end, and when there was a tug, he followed.</p><p>They made their way down off the lip of the cave opening and then right around the side of the cave onto a path that snaked its way along the steep face of the hill toward the north.</p><p>The chopper was coming closer now, it's rotors beating vibrations into the air.</p><p>The path leveled out and Mac could feel that the trees also thinned. "Here," said Marley, setting his end of the heavy wooden crate down slowly. Mac let his end rest gently on the ground as well.</p><p>"Come on," said Marley, grabbing Mac's arm to shove him back toward the cave. "Let's get another one."</p><p>"You go first," replied Mac and put a hand on Marley's shoulder. The man was shorter than Mac, wiry and wearing a flannel shirt.</p><p>"How is a chopper going to fit all this?" asked Mac as they hurried along the steep trail.</p><p>"Huh?" asked Marley in confusion, and Mac guessed the answer was probably obvious if he could see. "Oh yeah, it's, uh, one of them big logging 'copters."</p><p>Mac didn't have time to reply because they had reached the lip of the cave again, and his attention was kept busy by finding his hold on the next crate. As he did, he found that his hands were beginning to get torn up from the rough wood and he wished he had some work gloves. Pragmatically, he shoved the thought aside and concentrated on following the vague guidance the crate provided getting out of the cave and back on the path. Marley was more intent on hurrying than on helping Mac, and he suspected that Marley kept forgetting he couldn't see, or maybe thought he could see more than he could. He kept his knees bent, stepping lightly so that when he stepped off the side of a loose rock or his toes found a tree root, he wouldn't plummet down the steep hill to his left.</p><p>Marley's breath came a bit more labored as well, and Mac realized he wasn't the only one struggling. They set the second crate down in the clearing as the chopper was settling in to land. Gusts of wind whipped against their faces and shirts, and spun Mac's hair in swirls.</p><p>Marley yelled something over the noise of the rotors and when Mac shook his head, he pulled him roughly toward the path. Apparently, niceties like greeting the incoming crew weren't important.</p><p>Mac turned and grasped the shoulder of the smaller man and they hurried down the path again, nearly at a run. Mac tripped on a half-buried rock and nearly lost his balance, grabbing Marley's shoulder tightly to regain his equilibrium. He must have clutched harder than he meant to, because Marley let out a curse, but he did brace himself for a moment to hold Mac steady until he was back on his feet.</p><p>As they approached the cave, Frank barked, "me an… ?"</p><p>"MacGyver," he supplied.</p><p>"Me an' MacGyver gonna take up the last two. "Marley, you get the tarp and the tools. I don't want to have to pack them out."</p><p>"So there isn't room to ride?" asked Mac, dismayed. Frank was too busy muscling the last two crates on top of one another to answer.</p><p>"Take this end," he grunted. Mac bent and hefted the double load. Although Frank was stronger than Marley had been, he still obviously strained under the weight. Mac did too; after a few minutes his arms screamed a silent protest and his fingers burned.</p><p>When the got to the open clearing on the top of the mountain, Mac noticed a brightening of the night sky that signaled the presence of the moon. It was higher in the sky now and seemed to give plenty of light to the men who were loading crates into the quiet chopper, their voices low. Hands lifted off the top crate from Mac's load without question. Gratefully, he set the fourth box on the ground and straightened his back. In short order it too was whisked away. Marley came up with the tarps and a tool box, which he set on the ground with a clank.</p><p>Without speaking to the men from the chopper, Frank and Marley turned to leave. Marley hit Mac's forearm on the way by, which he took to mean he was to follow them. He reached for a shoulder but missed, grabbing only empty air. Marley took Mac's hand, placing on his shoulder himself, with a quick, impatient gesture. Evidently some rule had been made that they were to part company with the chopper quickly.</p><p>As the three men started back down the path, Mac heard the revving of engines behind him and the echoing Thwack-thwack as two giant rotors began their crescendo. Soon the trees around them creaked and swayed from the wind of their downdraft and the beast of a machine rose slowly into the air.</p><p>By this time, they had reached the cave again. Climbing inside, Frank said, "We'll finish the night here, then out tomorrow."</p><p>Marley joined him on the ledge and began snapping twigs off of larger branches that comprised a leftover pile of firewood stacked against one wall.</p><p>Mac edged toward the wall to join him and help. His hands quickly found the stacked branches and he began breaking off the smaller branches into handfuls of kindling.</p><p>Marley put his handful into Mac's hand and abruptly exited the cave, apparently to find himself a tree to piss on.</p><p>Once he had a good handful of small sticks, Mac turned and, still in a squat, swept his right foot around in an arc until he found the dead remains of the previous fire.</p><p>"You know, you're really something," said Frank, who had been watching him, Mac guessed.</p><p>"How so?" asked MacGyver, setting his sticks down on his left and lightly examining with his fingertips the half-burned charcoal logs that remained from the previous fire.</p><p>"Watching you. It's uncanny. I sure couldn't build a fire if I was…" Frank trailed his words off, unsure of how to finish.</p><p>Mac didn't bother to help him get the word "blind" said. "You could if you had to," he said shortly, pulling his kit of firestarter out of one of his side pockets. He deftly opened the small waterproof box and removed one of the wax-soaked cotton ball pieces that he always prepared and took into the wilderness with him. Then with his fingertips, he fluffed the cotton until it had plenty of "sticky-outs" as he called them in his mind. He set the cotton next to one of the leftover charcoal logs on the leeward side so the evening breeze that blew in the cave mouth wouldn't give him trouble.</p><p>He closed the plastic box, removed the steel striking pin and ran it down the flint striker on the side of the box. He heard it spark but holding his fingers above the cotton he felt no heat. He struck the flint again. The third time the crack of the spark sounded louder and he felt a sudden tiny warmth on the backs of his knuckles. He shoved the fire kit into his pocket and reached for his pile of kindling. As the waxy cotton burned quickly, he began leaning the smallest of the twigs against the log, trying to center them directly above the fragile flame in the cotton. He held a palm over the infant flame, testing its warmth. Like a candle flame, it warmed the underside of his fingers and he heard a few small crackles. He continued building the minuscule lean-to of sticks over the flame, careful not to bump the ones he had already placed and crush the growing flame.</p><p>He reached for more sticks, looking for larger ones now, the width of his fingers. He set these in place above the smaller ones, still building a lean-to against the log.</p><p>The fire, which had begun to crackle in earnest, now quieted and the heat on his knuckles as he placed the sticks was lessening. The cotton had burned out but the twigs hadn't caught enough heat to hold the flame.</p><p>He bent close to the sticks, blowing steadily and gently. Careful to touch only the cool ends of each stick, he gently prodded them closer to one another so that the tenuous warmth would be trapped in the space between and beneath them. He blew again. And then again. Each time he could see a faint orange glow in the darkness and feel the warmth expand its reach ever so slightly.</p><p>On the fifth lungful of air, suddenly the glow turned brighter and yellow, and the crackling sound resumed. Mac sat back on his heels, feeling satisfaction. He had fire.</p><p>He added more and longer sticks until the flames were well established, and then he was able to set one of the larger logs cross-ways atop the one he had used in the beginning.</p><p>Marley reentered the cave and squatted on his heels next to Mac.</p><p>"You build that?" He asked with admiration in his voice. "Sure you're blind?"</p><p>"Unfortunately, I'm pretty sure," replied Mac dryly.</p><p>"How'd it happen?" Marley asked.</p><p>"Accident," replied Mac laconically, adding to himself, if a bomb could be called an accident.</p><p>"Were you a kid?" persisted Marley.</p><p>"Nope. Not even two years ago," answered Mac.</p><p>"Damn," said Frank, and Mac couldn't tell if he meant it for sympathy or admiration.</p><p>Mac hoped to shift the conversation to the information he wanted, but he knew he'd need to tread extremely carefully. Although they seemed to have forgotten that it was he who had filled the chambers of their guns with sand, and they had accepted him as one of themselves after he helped carry the crates to the chopper, he knew it would take little to remind them that only the previous night he had been their prisoner. He sat calmly on his heels, rocked forward onto his toes, and idly fed medium-sized sticks to his flickering fire, listening to the crackle as the licking flames accepted them. Despite the talk of blindness, he was ironically enjoying the fact that he could see the fire fairly well. It was the only light in the dark cave and he was quite close. He enjoyed watching the color and movement, and noticing how the tops of the flames would hypnotically break off into the air and dissolve into sparks.</p><p>Every so often, when he could suddenly see something familiar like this, it was as if something starving inside of him was given a bite of food. There was a moment of pure, visceral pleasure, heightened because of its rarity.</p>
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<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter 12</p><p>Taking one of the longer sticks that lay at his side, he used its end to move the burning sticks and logs closer together to retain their heat. He used it to check their locations and configuration, assuring himself that the pocket of coals tucked in the middle had both sufficient air space and sufficient fuel.</p><p>"No room in the chopper, eh?" he began, picking up an old conversation thread close to where he wanted to go.</p><p>"Not for the likes of us," grumped Frank.</p><p>"They ought to appreciate what you're doing," stated Mac carefully, feeling like a fisherman casting a line.</p><p>Marley bit.</p><p>"You're right. They don't appreciate us, and we do all the heavy lifting," he complained.</p><p>"Well, let me know if I can help you with that," commented MacGyver lazily, trying to mask his eagerness.</p><p>"Nah, you don't want to talk to the Boss," countered Marley.</p><p>Mac considered this. "Could use some work," he finally said. "Think he'd hire a blind guy?"</p><p>"Nope," Frank said laconically, spitting into the fire with a sizzle.</p><p>"You'd be surprised," argued MacGyver. "Nobody suspects a blind guy. I can get into a lot of places. Talk to a lot of people."</p><p>"Guess you could try," said Frank skeptically.</p><p>"Can't do much more than that," agreed Mac.</p><p>"Meet you in Missoula, once we get outta this shithole," said Frank, spitting again.</p><p>Mac winced inwardly. Outwardly, he merely grunted, poking the fire again with the stick.</p><p>"You gonna…?" Marley sounded surprised.</p><p>"Maybe," Frank answered, and left it there.</p><p>Mac sat for a few more minutes, then rose. "Guess I better get back before they call in the cavalry," he joked.</p><p>Frank leaped to his feet. "You told them where to find us? Those two old folks at the cabin?"</p><p>Mac held up both hands, palms outward. "Relax. I was kidding." He saw he'd made a mistake, however, because the atmosphere in the cave had shifted from friendly camaraderie to tense watchfulness.</p><p>"Tell you what," said Frank at last. "If we get outta this place without seeing any of them Rangers, I'll show up in Missoula to tell you where to find our boss. We get run outta here by the cops and you can forget it."</p><p>Mac extended his right hand.</p><p>After another long pause, Frank shook it.</p><p>Mac pulled his cane from where he'd tucked it, folded, into the waistband of his jeans. He shook it out straight, listening to the ferrules snap into place, and tapped it once on the ground to test it.</p><p>A quick sweep to his left found the day pack along the wall of the cave, and he picked it up and slid his arms through the straps.</p><p>"See ya," he said jauntily, and felt for the lip of the cave and the downward trail. The men said nothing and he felt the chilly silence follow him as he descended the hill.</p><p>Once he was sure he was out of sight of the cave, he stopped and leaned his back against a tree, resting against the cushion of the pack. He took several long, slow breaths, calming himself, and also listening to any sound that would indicate that Frank or Marley had followed him.</p><p>The beauty and stillness of the forest at night overwhelmed him and calmed him. A few nighttime animal rustlings broke the huge, absolute silence, but that was all. The moon had sunk low beyond the western trees across the river. Overhead, the sky looked velvety black to him but he knew it was peppered with stars.</p><p>With a sweep of his cane, he located the trail again, descending downhill to his left and he swung onto it, hiking steadily along its now-familiar length toward the river. Fording the river at this hour of the morning felt cold and unpleasant, and he gritted his teeth. At one point, near the western bank of the river, his foot slipped on the gooey slime that covered the round river rocks and his ankle twisted. He overbalanced and went into the water on his knees, the rushing, noisy water covering him above his waist. He gasped with the shock of the cold and as quickly as he could struggled to his feet again, bracing himself against the tug of the current.</p><p>As he stepped out of the water onto the grass and tangled bushes of the bank, he realized how unforgiving the wilderness could be. One slip like that and his life was suddenly much less secure than it had been. His ankle throbbed. His wet jeans clung to him while his sodden feet could no longer feel the tennis shoes that covered them. Nor could he feel the path that he wanted to find under his numb feet.</p><p>He pressed his lips together in frustration. For a minute, he debated with himself whether to press on doggedly to try to find the Shearer cabin, but he quickly realized he wouldn't be able to make it. Every step on his injured ankle was agony, and the numbness crept relentlessly up his legs.</p><p>He poked around near himself with his cane looking for a clear spot. Luck was with him, because he found a sandy patch almost immediately. He broke as many dry twigs off nearby bushes as he could, and sat down on the sand with his fire-making kit. Like he had done in the cave, he built and lit a tiny fire, adding larger and larger sticks as the flames took hold. Crawling on hands and knees, he searched for larger wood and finally found some bare lower branches on a nearby pine tree. It took all his weight to snap them, but once he did and added them to his little fire, it began to crackle and burn brightly.</p><p>Stripping off his wet clothes, he laid them out on the sand near the fire to dry, and then sat down to examine his right ankle. With his fingers, he prodded the joint. It was swelling, but he could move it and no bones seemed out of place. He rummaged in the day pack for the first aid kit he never left behind. In it, he found a rolled up elastic bandage, and he wrapped the ankle, then set his shoes and socks next to the fire to begin drying.</p><p>In spite of still being damp and cold, he found that he was enjoying the night and the fire and peacefulness. He crawled a few feet to the water's edge to refill his canteen, and then began to munch handfuls of trail mix he'd stuffed into his pack.</p><p>With his ankle still throbbing and the fire to tend, he doubted he'd be able to sleep, so he began thinking instead.</p><p>Frank and Marley were obviously just one small link in a long chain designed to gather and move the large store of weapons. The stash has been gathered but where were they bound? And to what purpose would they be put? There were enough guns there to outfit a small army, not to mention the crates of ammo.</p><p>Why had the group chosen to amass and store them in such an out-of-the way, inconvenient location?</p><p>His thoughts swirled with questions that had no answers as he lay propped on one elbow, occasionally tossing more dried sticks onto his fire.</p><p>The sky began to lighten and high in the trees overhead, birds called a greeting to the new day. Mac fingered his still damp footwear and decided he might as well finish the trek back to the cabin and Christy. He wasn't going to get any answers sitting there on a little sand bar by himself.</p><p>He winced as he slipped his shoe over his right foot, and gritted his teeth to stand. Once he was upright, however, he decided it wasn't any worse than the injuries he'd gotten while playing hockey. He pulled out his trusty duct tape and put a firm layer of tape over his sock as additional support, and tied his shoe a little looser. Then he slung his pack onto his back and shook out his cane.</p><p>The sun still hadn't risen yet and the world seemed to hold its breath as it does very early in the morning. Mac forced his way through a tangle of bushes toward the main Selway trail, thinking grimly to himself that if he could see what he was doing, he would not automatically choose the most tangled, obstructed route possible. There was probably a nice, tidy little path just feet to his left or right but he had no way of figuring out where it was. So he just bushwhacked and finally emerged, scraped and scratched in a few places, onto the trail.</p><p>"Hey there, Good morning!" called a cheery voice from his left, and he heard the snort of a horse and smelled its unmistakable scent. He turned toward the voice.</p><p>"Morning. You're out early," he called in return.</p><p>"So're you," replied the man on horseback, coming closer.</p><p>"You an Outfitter?" asked Mac, searching his memory for horse owners in the backcountry.</p><p>"Yup," came the reply. "Goin' up to Moose Crick to meet a group this mornin'. Where you headed?"</p><p>"Shearer," replied Mac, gesturing with his head.</p><p>"Ah, not too far then," replied the outfitter.</p><p>Mac stepped back off the trail to allow the horse to pass. He debated with himself about asking for help getting to Shearer but couldn't bring himself to do it.</p><p>"Have a good one!" called the outfitter as his horse plodded up the trail.</p><p>"You too!" replied Mac. He wondered if the man had not noticed his cane or just didn't care. One of the unwritten rules of the backcountry was that your business was your business, so he supposed the man simply didn't care. If a blind guy wanted to wander around out here by himself, it wasn't any of his nevermind.</p><p>Once the sound of the horse had vanished up the trail, Mac turned and began following it himself. His ankle ached but he found that walking wasn't too difficult, and it felt nice to stretch and move stiff, cold muscles.</p><p>Every so often along the trail he found evidence of the horse's passing, and he gritted his teeth as he stepped into the pungent piles. Yet another thing he'd avoid if he could see, he thought.</p><p>As usual, finding the path that led up to the Shearer cabin was tricky, and he had to backtrack a few times before he found it. He was glad to reach the cabin at last, exchange his wet clothes for dry ones from his pack, and join Christy and the older couple for a hot breakfast.</p>
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<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter 13</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter 13</p><p>All that week as Mac worked with Christy at the Salmon Hole, catching, tagging and releasing the fish, his mind was only half on the task he was doing. He had already radioed Pete to give him a brief heads-up on what he had uncovered; still, using an unsecured channel meant that he had to speak in vague, semi-coded sentences that he could only hope communicated well enough. He and Pete had both agreed that he needed to finish the salmon project before going to Missoula to meet the gun-runners. Whatever was happening with the weapons wouldn't move faster than a week in any event, and they didn't want to lose a whole year with the salmon data.</p><p>It was hard for Mac to stay focused, however, when he chafed to be away figuring out what was going on with the weapons shipment.</p><p>Christy seemed to understand his preoccupation and subdued her chatter somewhat. She still was mostly interested in the fish, a fact that made Mac grateful for her again.</p><p>At last the work at the Salmon Hole was finished and they hiked back to Shearer to meet their pilot and fly out. Once airborne, Christy kept a running conversation with Jerry, the pilot, on the amazing mountainous landscape below them and the names of the lakes as they flew over them. Mac listened to their descriptions, forming pictures in his mind of miles of untamed land spread below them, wrinkled into mountain ranges and freckled with trees, punctuated here and there with crystal-blue glacier-formed lakes. Christy commented on how the natural lines in the landscape were curved or wavy, but as they gradually entered more human influence, the lines between fields of wheat, or lines of roads became straight lines and square corners.</p><p>Without incident they landed at the tiny airstrip in Orofino, which now seemed highly urban, with its pavement and buildings.</p><p>Mac said his farewells to Christy, each complimenting the other on the success of their project. He hoped they would cross paths again, and he wished her well.</p><p>He then asked Jerry to give him a ride to one of the two hotels in town. Built by the river, the hotel was nicer than Mac expected, obviously built to be a touristy getaway for business conventions and honeymooners. He and Puck checked into a ground floor room. The first thing he did was to take an extra long, hot shower, almost groaning with pleasure. No shower ever felt as good as one after a wilderness trip, he thought.</p><p>His next order of business was to find transportation to Missoula, Montana, to find Frank and Marley at their designated rendezvous the following day. This proved to be quite a bit more difficult than he expected. Although Orofino, Idaho was linked to Missoula by an interstate highway, there wasn't a connecting bus route, train route or any other public transportation. He felt half tempted to go hunt Jerry down and ask him to fly over there.</p><p>After presenting his problem to several different desk clerks, one of them finally said in true Idaho fashion, "I bet my uncle would drive you over there. I'll ask 'im."</p><p>"I'd be grateful," answered MacGyver.</p><p>A phone call was made, and Uncle Jim said he didn't have anything going on the rest of that day and sure, he'd be happy to drive over to Missoula, provided MacGyver paid for gas. It was agreed and Uncle Jim said he'd be by to pick MacGyver up in an hour.</p><p>This gave Mac time to get directions to a nearby café for lunch. The greasy spoon did not have a vegetarian menu and did have a pool table and several arcade games, populated with shouting high schoolers. He was glad to finish his grilled cheese sandwich and leave again.</p><p>When he got back to the hotel with Puck, a man at the front desk greeted him from across the lobby.</p><p>"You the guy needs a ride?"</p><p>"I am. Name's MacGyver," he answered, holding out a hand to shake. The hand that took his was strong and callused.</p><p>"Jim Sanders," the man said. "Ya got a bag?"</p><p>"In my room. I'll get it," said Mac.</p><p>"Need help?" asked Uncle Jim, but Mac shook his head.</p><p>"Nah, I'm good," he replied, directing Puck down the hall. Toward the middle of the hall, he trailed his fingers along the right-hand wall, touching each doorknob as he passed. When he came to the one that he had placed a rubber band around, he knew he had reached his room. He unlocked it and retrieved his pack and Puck's food.</p><p>At the front desk again, he turned in his key and directed Puck to follow Uncle Jim out to his "rig" as he called the creaky, rattly pickup truck.</p><p>"Nice lookin' dog ya got there," commented Uncle Jim as they settled themselves on the vinyl bench seat. "What's 'is name?"</p><p>"Puck," answered Mac, "like a hockey puck." He decided that might work better than Shakespeare, but Uncle Jim surprised him.</p><p>"You mean like Midsummer's Night Dream?" he asked. "Puck like that?"</p><p>"Yeah, that too," agreed Mac. "You like Shakespeare?"</p><p>"Love 'im," replied Uncle Jim, and Mac couldn't tell if he was serious or sarcastic.</p><p>"I played Theseus in college," stated Uncle Jim, surprising Mac again. His picture of Uncle Jim as an uneducated redneck began to skew.</p><p>"Where did you go to college?" Mac asked, more to keep the conversation going than any actual interest.</p><p>"Oh it was this little bitty college down by New Orleans," said Uncle Jim. "I was in my hippy days and wanted to get as far away from Idaho as I could get."</p><p>"But you came back," prompted MacGyver.</p><p>"Yep, I came back," agreed Uncle Jim. "Something about Idaho gets in your blood, ya know?"</p><p>Mac considered this. He didn't feel particularly attached to Idaho, although it was beautiful, but he thought about Minnesota where he grew up. He thought about the long, harsh winters where blizzards scraped across the land. He thought about the German and Swedish people and about hockey.</p><p>"Yeah, I know what you mean," he said quietly, suddenly wondering if he'd ever skate over a blue line again, chasing a loose puck, or slam into the boards avoiding a crash with another player. He doubted it, and suddenly he didn't feel much like talking anymore.</p><p>"Where you from?" asked Uncle Jim, as if reading his thoughts.</p><p>"Minnesota," answered Mac.</p><p>"Huh. Never been there," said Uncle Jim. "What'd you do for fun out there?"</p><p>"Hockey," replied MacGyver. "I was headed for the pros."</p><p>"But you went blind?" prompted Uncle Jim.</p><p>"No," answered Mac. "I broke both my wrists. I didn't go blind till just a year ago or so."</p><p>"You sound like the daredevil type," commented Uncle Jim dryly.</p><p>Mac considered this. Was he? He certainly had his fair share of close calls and injuries, but he didn't think of himself as a daredevil. He didn't go looking for trouble. It just somehow seemed to find him.</p><p>"Not sure," he said noncommittally. "How about you? What do you do?"</p><p>"Logger," replied Uncle Jim.</p><p>Mac grinned to himself. He couldn't help liking this man although the environmental work put him on the opposite side of politics in most cases.</p><p>"You like it?" he asked.</p><p>"Love it. Out in the woods all day. Can't beat that," explained Uncle Jim.</p><p>"How do you justify the cutting if you love the woods so much?" Mac couldn't help asking.</p><p>"Well, I try to promote responsible cutting. We don't clear-cut and we replant. The forest is a sustainable resource if we use it right," Uncle Jim continued.</p><p>Mac nodded. "You don't have to lose habitats either. I wish more loggers thought like you."</p><p>"We do what we can," agreed Uncle Jim, then he changed the subject. "Guess you can't see the scenery. Too bad cause it sure is a pretty day."</p><p>Mac felt suddenly at sea. He wasn't sure what to answer. He was used to most people asking tentatively how he lost his sight and tripping over their words trying to be inoffensive. This guy just kind of spilled what he was thinking. Mac was impressed with both his directness and his acceptance of how life was.</p><p>"Nope, can't see it," agreed MacGyver, wondering where the comment would lead. To his astonishment, Uncle Jim began describing the scenery, and Mac enjoyed the man's love for the landscape in which he lived as much as the description itself.</p><p>"The hills in the sun are like the flanks of a deer. Smooth and brown with a few trees here and there. This now, this is the Clearwater River but pretty soon we hit the Lochsa. The Nez Perce tribe used to live all over this valley. Raised Appaloosa horses."</p><p>"Lewis and Clark came through here, didn't they?" asked Mac, struggling to remember history lessons from his school days. He had always been more interested in science than history, but he vaguely recalled something about the Nez Perce in connection with Lewis and Clark.</p><p>"Right," affirmed Uncle Jim. "Lewis and Clark crossed the Bitterroot mountains in the winter. Sacagawea was a Nez Perce gal, and she was their guide all through this country. And she even had a little baby."</p><p>"She sounds like a tough lady," remarked MacGyver.</p><p>"Oh she was," agreed Uncle Jim. "Sold into slavery, forced to marry a French trapper and fur trader. Then brought back as a translator and guide by the Expedition, and they weren't very genteel either."</p><p>They both pondered this in silence. MacGyver pictured the river on his left as the rattly truck swung around stomach-wrenching turns. He pictured the canoes full of men, weary from their mountain crossing, eager to press on to the sea. He pictured the young native lady with her baby, excited to see her homeland once again and be reunited with her own people.</p><p>"Why you going to Missoula?" asked Uncle Jim, breaking into Mac's thoughts.</p><p>"Oh, I'm supposed to meet someone there," he replied vaguely.</p><p>"Huh," came the grunted reply. It seemed to indicate that Uncle Jim thought that if Mac wanted to keep his business to himself, that was fine.</p><p>The road along the river got twistier with tighter turns. Uncle Jim maneuvered around them at a speed which sent Mac's stomach into knots. He also found that the sun flashing through the trees into his eyes had begun to give him a headache. Puck shifted on his feet, trying to find a more comfortable way to snooze. The cab of the pickup grew warm with the afternoon sun, and Uncle Jim rolled his window down, effectively stopping further conversation with the loud rush of wind. Mac sighed and closed his eyes, wishing there was a way to block the flash of sun and shadow caused by the fringe of trees along the right of the road.</p><p>Although the drive felt interminable, eventually they did finally slow, swing to their left and then stop at what sounded like an intersection. Mac lifted his head from where he had been dozing against the seat back.</p><p>"We're here," announced Uncle Jim with delight. He deposited Mac and Puck at a motel on the edge of town and gratefully accepted the cash for gas that Mac handed him. The two men wished each other good luck and Uncle Jim rattled and squeaked his way out of the parking lot and back on his way again. Mac smiled to himself, thinking that in some weird way, blindness indeed had its compensations. If he hadn't needed rides, he would meet quite as many interesting characters.</p><p>Then, he thought about tomorrow and the fact that he would need to meet some interesting characters of a wholly different sort. His stomach, still queasy from the river road, clenched again. He had to meet the next level of crime boss and somehow convince him that he was just blind enough to be harmless and not so blind that he wasn't useful to them. Tricky, he thought. Darn tricky.</p>
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<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Chapter 14</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter 14</p><p>Early the next morning, Mac found a patch of grass alongside the motel building to let Puck relieve himself. He had gotten used to finding and picking up the mess, although it still wasn't his favorite chore.</p><p>He showered again, still enjoying the feel of the hot water on his skin after the days spent in the backcountry. He discovered that the little bottles of shampoo provided by the motel were impossible to distinguish from one another. He opened each of the three and smelled each. They all smelled like something fresh. Cucumber, maybe? No clues there as to which was lotion, which was shampoo and which was… creme rinse? Soap?</p><p>He considered tasting each but decided that he didn't want to try it, although he suspected it would work. Instead, he poured a little of one into his hand and rubbed it into his hair. It didn't lather but remained slippery. Not shampoo then. He tried again with another bottle and this time he got a good lather. He poured a good amount from that bottle and lathered his too-long hair, grinning to himself as he imagined Pete's voice admonishing him to get a haircut.</p><p>He wished he had a suit or at least a nice shirt available, but he only had the clothes he'd packed for the backcountry. So, he chose the cleanest shirt out of the bunch and put his jeans on again.</p><p>Once he had fed Puck and re-packed his hiking pack, he left the little hotel room and gave Puck a "right" command. They walked the length of the front sidewalk, and then he told Puck, "find the door!" Throughout the last few months, they had polished that command until now Puck would touch a door handle with his nose, allowing Mac to brush his fingers up the dog's face and instantly find the handle of a door. He used the technique now to enter the lobby of the motel, hand in his key, and ask the front desk clerk if Missoula had any sort of public transit. He was pleased to find that there was a bus, and he got directions and scheduling information from the clerk.</p><p>The morning sun felt warm on his face, with just a hint of cool crispness in the air. He listened to the sound of traffic as the morning commuters made their way to work. He passed a fast food restaurant that smelled of fried potatoes and coffee. He and Puck waited at a traffic light. He listened carefully for the flow of traffic to change, and when the cars traveling parallel to his route surged ahead, he gave Puck the "forward" command.</p><p>It wasn't long until they found their bus stop and boarded the city bus heading into the business district. At the edge of the downtown section, he asked the bus driver for directions to the Diner Frank had mentioned.</p><p>"It's a piece of cake," the bus driver informed him. "When you get off the bus, take a left. Cross one street and the diner's right there on your right."</p><p>"Thanks," replied Mac, grasping Puck's harness handle, and gave the "forward" command to descend the bus steps.</p><p>The directions proved to be good, and Mac walked toward the diner, trying to ignore the butterflies in his stomach. Puck found the door and they entered the warmth of the building, smells of bacon frying greeting him with a familiarity he enjoyed, even though he didn't eat bacon.</p><p>"Table for one?" asked a friendly female voice.</p><p>"Well, uhm, I'm supposed to meet a friend here," explained MacGyver, thinking that being able to visually scan the restaurant would be pretty handy right about now. He supposed that if Mr. Fist was there, he would have to find Mac.</p><p>Luckily, he didn't have long to wait. Footsteps approached from his right.</p><p>"Mr. MacGyver," greeted a voice that Mac recognized as belonging to Frank.</p><p>"Hi." Mac returned the greeting, then turned to the hostess. "Thanks."</p><p>"We're just over…" Frank apparently gestured in some unknown direction. "Do you need, uh, help, uh…?"</p><p>"Nah, he'll follow you," said Mac easily.</p><p>Frank let out a relieved breath and turned to walk toward the table.</p><p>"Puck, follow," ordered Mac and the dog led him toward a table in what seemed like a secluded back corner of the diner.</p><p>"Mr. Fist, this is the guy I was telling you about," said Frank deferentially.</p><p>"Hi, name's MacGyver," said Mac, wanting to hold out a hand to shake but not sure which side of the table the other man occupied.</p><p>"Blind, huh?" came a voice from the far side of the table. Fist's voice was lower in pitch than Frank's giving the impression of a large man. Frank sat across from Fist, scooting across the bench so Mac could also sit. He did, settling Puck at his feet, and looked up toward a waitress offering coffee, giving her a head shake to indicate he didn't want any.</p><p>"Yeah," he responded to Fist, thinking that the guy at least got it out of the way quickly.</p><p>"What can a blind guy do for me?" asked Fist impatiently, taking a drink of his own coffee, then setting the cup down with a rattle.</p><p>Underestimation is good, thought Mac. He'd have to play his cards very carefully now.</p><p>"I dunno, talk to people," he said carelessly. "Do you have any granola?" He addressed the last sentence to the waitress, who had come back to their table and stood chewing her gum and tapping her pencil on her pad of paper. The other two men ordered platters of bacon and eggs, and the waitress left.</p><p>"Talk to people," echoed Fist, shifting his weight on the vinyl bench. "What people? Why would I need you to do that?"</p><p>"Well, I know a lot of people," offered MacGyver. "People that like to help out other people." He found himself slipping into Dexter Fillmore's voice and he mentally slapped himself. Too much, he thought.</p><p>"What makes you think I need help," asked Fist warily.</p><p>"I dunno. You just seem like the kind of guy who likes to get stuff done," said Mac.</p><p>"And you know people who can help me get stuff done?" asked Fist sardonically.</p><p>"Maybe," Mac hedged.</p><p>"He didn't turn us in last week," Frank reminded his boss.</p><p>"Shut up," Fist replied without ceremony. He apparently liked to keep his people in their places.</p><p>At this moment, the gum-chewing waitress was back, clattering plates in front of each man, and a bowl in front of Mac with an additional something that puzzled him. He slid his fingertips carefully along the tabletop until they encountered the mystery item which at first felt like a coffee mug but which turned out to be a cream pitcher. With his left hand cradling the side of his bowl of granola, he poured the cream over it, and took a bite, noticing with pleasure that it was served with fresh strawberries on top.</p><p>The other men were also busy eating, so the talk lagged for a few minutes. Apparently it gave Fist time to think, because he at last said thoughtfully, "what do you know about… smoothing the way for moving things around?"</p><p>Mac didn't look up from his cereal. "Depends where it's going."</p><p>He was playing a game of verbal ping-pong with Fist. The crime boss wanted to know if Mac was going to deliver on his boasts, and wanted to find out before he gave any of his own information out.</p><p>Mac, however, had put the ball squarely in Fist's court. It was a reasonable request: Mac couldn't know whom to contact unless he had an idea of the plan.</p><p>Fist sat for a long minute, and Mac could feel the intensity of the man's gaze upon him, weighing him pondering his use and his trustworthiness. The moment could have been tense, but Mac swallowed a bit of granola and let out a satisfied burp.</p><p>The tension snapped. Frank snorted.</p><p>Fist said, "All, right, a trial. I have a load ready to go to East Asia, but at the moment I don't have a way clear through the West Coast export inspection."</p><p>The Philippines, Mac thought with dread. That's where this load was headed.</p><p>Aloud, he said, "I live in L.A. You're in luck."</p><p>Fist sat up straight, his fork clattering to his plate. Frank exclaimed, "L. A.?! You're crazy if you think…"</p><p>Fist cut him off. "Portland is safer."</p><p>Mac shrugged. "Busier is better in my book. Easier to slip stuff through. Easier to find someone willing to help."</p><p>Fist sat thinking about this. "We can try. It depends what you have to offer. I'll give you a week to talk to your people. Call me here in a week." A pen scratched on paper. The piece was ripped off of something and it was slid toward Mac. "I don't write braille," he commented with the first hint at humor Mac had seen from him.</p><p>"I'll manage," Mac replied, resisting the desire to roll his eyes. He held out his hand and someone scooped up the slip of paper and stuck it in his pocket.</p><p>He scooped up the last bite of granola and placed a fiver on the table. Standing, he waited while Puck stretched his lanky frame and gave an irreverent yawn.</p><p>As he did so, a thought struck Mac. He turned to Frank. "Why did you dart my dog? Back at Bear Creek?"</p><p>Frank replied in confusion, "I didn't. Don't know what you're talking about."</p><p>Mac shrugged, but inwardly he felt his stomach clench. He disliked unresolved details. Who had access to animal darts and knew the correct dosage for a young German Shepherd?</p><p>He picked up the harness handle.</p><p>"Nice to meet you," he threw toward the table. "Puck, forward. Find the door."</p><p>Outside, he directed Puck down the street, not caring much where he went. Eventually, he wanted a phone, but first he wanted to make sure Fist hadn't put a tail on him. They walked for several blocks through the business district, enjoying the relaxed pace of a smaller town on a weekday.</p><p>Mac discovered that he had absolutely no way of knowing whether the various footsteps around him belonged to Frank or anyone else. He would have to think of another way to call Pete and be absolutely sure he wasn't overheard.</p><p>He turned to the next person that stopped next to him at the curb. "Excuse me, is there a phone nearby?"</p><p>"Oh! Uhm, well," the woman's voice sounded startled. "There's… uhm… one right over there."</p><p>Mac sighed to himself. "You'll have to be a BIT more specific."</p><p>"Oh! I'm so sorry! I mean it's over THERE."</p><p>Mac pressed his mouth into a frustrated line. "Over there?" He asked, pointing ahead.</p><p>"Oh, no!" she giggled self-consciously. "It's…" She took his hand and swung it around until it pointed to his right.</p><p>"Thanks," he said with a smile that didn't quite make it to sincere.</p><p>"Oh you're so welcome!" she answered, and as the traffic shifted, she announced, "that's my light!"</p><p>Mac gave a slight, amused shake of his head. "Puck, right." Puck executed the right turn with snappy efficiency. "At least you know your right from your left," Mac told him. He soon heard the echo of a blank wall along the sidewalk on his right, and he stretched out his right hand to trail his fingers along it. Only a couple of feet later, he encountered the aluminum shell of a telephone booth and went inside.</p><p>He dropped in a couple of quarters and dialed the number that was so memorized he doubted he would ever forget it.</p><p>"Peter Thornton's office," chirped the voice of the secretary.</p><p>"Put me through," Mac requested, and she recognized his voice.</p><p>"Right away, Mr. MacGyver," she answered cheerfully.</p><p>"Thornton," his friend answered.</p><p>"Philippines," Mac said.</p><p>"Uh oh," Pete's voice took on the razor edge of worry.</p><p>At that moment, an arm reached past MacGyver's cheek and pressed the lever in the receiver cradle.</p><p>A voice Mac didn't recognize said, "Got the number? Good. Come with me, Mr. MacGyver." A hand grasped his upper arm in a viselike grip, and Puck's leash was jerked out of his other hand. He was led away with the phone receiver left dangling.</p>
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<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Chapter 15</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter 15</p><p>Mac's heart drummed a staccato rhythm in his chest, but he made himself to appear calm. His first concern was for Puck. The dog had been led away from him, and when he was forced into the passenger seat of a sedan, Puck wasn't there. Mac's hands were not tied; evidently it was assumed that his blindness was enough to keep him contained in the car. Mac considered hopping out when the car was paused for a stoplight, but he wanted to gain more information and hopefully rescue Puck, so he stayed where he was.</p><p>"What's this about?" he demanded angrily of the driver of the car, who didn't answer. Instead the metallic muzzle of a .45 touched the back of his head behind his left ear.</p><p>"I'm tryna help you guys," he said angrily.</p><p>This time a man in the back seat whose voice Mac didn't recognize but who obviously held the pistol replied sarcastically, "by calling the Phoenix Foundation."</p><p>Mac's hands, flat on the vinyl seat beside him, bracing himself as the car swung around turns in the road, grew suddenly cold. He wondered how they had known the number he dialed. He thought of Pete and pressed his lips together. Calling was a mistake, he realized. They had followed and waited. He thought with grim amusement about the lady giving the "over there" directions and if several thugs watching, waiting like circling sharks for him to do exactly what he did. Anger at himself flared up inside him, and an overwhelming mixture of frustration and grief. If he could see, he would never have held a tail that long. He could shake them off, double back, duck into doorways and know for sure that he was clean. His jaw clenched.</p><p>Then he calmed himself. Beating himself up would do no good. It wouldn't change his situation at all, and might prevent him making the most of it later on if a situation presented itself. Right now he needed to focus, to think.</p><p>He concentrated on gathering information about the route his abductors took. He noted that the traffic sounds around the sedan were still fairly heavy, and the car moved briskly with few turns. He guessed they were on a freeway, which was punctuated every now and then by the higher pitch of a bridge.</p><p>The sun shone in the windshield onto his knees, so he could roughly make out their direction as heading east. He thought about a map of western Montana, but didn't have enough details memorized to know what might lay to the east of Missoula. He'd have to wait and see.</p><p>"Where's my dog?" he asked petulantly.</p><p>"Oh, Frankie's taking good care of him," said the driver with a grin, and Mac couldn't tell if the words were intended to be calming or threatening. Regardless, Mac smiled inwardly. He had now heard both men's voices.</p><p>The car swung to the right and slowed. There was a sharp left turn. The road they now took grew more and more winding, as well as getting steeper as they traveled uphill. The sun on Mac's right flashed through trees.</p><p>After maybe 30 minutes, the driver pulled onto a gravel driveway that lasted for 100 slow yards and the car rolled to a stop.</p><p>"Out" said Mr. Gun and Mac fumbled for the door handle. He finally found it, and opened the door slowly, not knowing if it might hit a car or tree that stood close to where they parked. The area seemed clear, so he unwound his long frame and stood up, pushing his shoulders back against the tension he'd unconsciously held between his shoulder blades.</p><p>Two other doors opened, and soon Mac was joined from behind by Mr. Gun, while Mr. Driver's footsteps receded quickly off to their left. Mac had time to notice that he stood in the sun but was surrounded by the heady aroma of evergreen trees when Mr. Gun poked his .45 into the small of Mac's back.</p><p>"Walk," he ordered.</p><p>"Uhm, where?" Mac asked reasonably.</p><p>Mr. Gun made an impatient sound in his throat and with his free hand grabbed Mac's upper arm. To Mac's surprise, it was his right arm, meaning that the gun was in the man's left hand. Since most people held a pistol in their dominant hand, this fellow was evidently left-handed. There was something odd about the grip on his arm too, as if the man used only one finger and his thumb, but Mac had no time to ponder this because Mr. Gun push-guided him forward over the slippery crunch of evergreen needles.</p><p>They arrived at a shack, which Mac discovered when his forehead and right need hit a rough wooden wall. He gave a short grunt of pained surprise. If he hoped for an apology from his companion, he was disappointed. Instead, Mr. Gun busied himself with a padlock.</p><p>Mac considered breaking and running. But there was the gun. And he didn't fancy smacking into a tree. So he stood still while Mr. Gun fiddled with the lock, cursing under his breath when it resisted his efforts. Eventually, he got it open and gave Mac a push toward the interior of the building. He must have forgotten Mac could see nothing useful because he didn't bother to warn him of the tools and implements scattered around in the shed, and Mac took a hard hit to the right shin that caused him to stumble forward, grazing the back of his hand on something sharp as he went down in a tangle of rough wood and metal.</p><p>Mr. Gun was in a hurry, so he didn't apologize but shut the door, snuffing all of the daylight in the small room. Mac heard the hasp close and the padlock click shut.</p><p>Once Mr. Gun's footsteps had crunched away, Mac listened to the silence around what seemed to be a tool shed. He sat all the way down, wincing as he rubbed his shin, noticing that it was sticky with blood. His hand, too, was bleeding, but just slightly with the parallel scrapes along its length. He reached gingerly up to determine what had scratched him and felt the long, ugly, sharp teeth of a two-man crosscut saw. The item he had tripped on was a rusty wheelbarrow with wooden handles.</p><p>Once he had his breath back and his heart rate returned to normal, he began searching systematically around himself for useful items. He started with hands and feet searching the floor nearby, and working outward.</p><p>The first thing he noticed was that the floor was merely dirt. That had possibilities. On his left, just in front of the wooden wall was a low shelf with items stacked untidily. A metal coffee can held an assortment of nails and a hammer with a wooden handle. Just beyond that, an axe leaned with its long handle against the wall. Mac didn't bother looking for any windows; the darkness in the room told him that light only came in through a crack or two. He thought wryly to himself that his captors probably had assumed that being thrown into a dark shed would deter him when he honestly had hardly noticed.</p><p>He hadn't found anything in the shed to stop the bleeding on his shin, and from the smell of dust and motor oil, he decided that any rags he found would probably be dirty. So, he tore a strip from the hem of his T-shirt and bound his leg, below the knee. He tied it outside his jeans, tightly enough to put pressure on the wound but not cut off the circulation in his lower leg. The wound didn't hurt much; it was merely a flesh wound and for that he felt grateful. He didn't need to add a broken bone to his current list of problems.</p><p>He continued his exploration of the tool shed. There was a lawn mower, which explained the engine smell. In one corner stood a bouquet of shovels, a hoe and a tool Mac recognized as a Pulaski, used for digging fire ditches and maintaining trails. There was a push broom, and Mac carefully unscrewed the long straight wooden handle to use later, leaning it against the back wall of the shed. There was a chainsaw, trimmers and hand saws and some buckets.</p><p>Mac pictured himself using the chainsaw to cut his way free and grinned. Every person within a mile radius would hear it and come running.</p><p>Mac touched the wall, trying to determine if one wall was warmer than the others. With the sun lowering past mid-afternoon, he hoped he might be able to tell, but the shed was shaded enough he couldn't tell. He remembered that Mr. Driver had run to the left of the car while he and Mr. Gun had come to the right and hadn't circled the shed when they found it. That meant that the additional buildings nearby would most likely be in the front of the shed and not behind. He ran his fingertips along the weathered vertical boards of the back wall, and when he found a crack, he put his ear to it, listening intently. He heard no footsteps or voices, but he did hear a gentle lapping of water, which might signify a nearby pond or lake.</p><p>He listened at the door on the front side of the shack, and heard distant voices. There was another sound that made his heart leap into his throat: the insistent barking of a dog.</p><p>Moving again to the back of the shed, he tested several of the boards by pushing firmly with his palms to see if they were loose enough to come off. They weren't. He went back to the front corner and retrieved the claw hammer, bringing along a heavy pair of wire cutters at the same time. He used the claw on the back of the hammer to slip between the lower frame of the wall and the boards on the outside. This time he had more luck. With a squeak, the bottom of the board came off. He pushed gently, experimentally swinging it outward, the nails on the upper end acting like stiff hinges. He wanted to see if anyone would notice.</p><p>There was no noise, except the wind in the tops of the tall pine trees and the gentle echo of water hitting a dock.</p><p>He tried to squeeze himself through the space left by the board's removal, but found that it was too narrow, so he went to work on the next board. A third soon followed, and he had a crack wide enough to slither out. Once he was through, he pulled out the broomstick and the cutters. He crouched by the wall, pushing the bottoms of the boards more or less back into place.</p><p>Moving to the corner of the shed he paused again to listen for the direction and distance of the barks. It wasn't far; only about twenty yards, he judged. The trouble was, he couldn't tell if someone was watching. After the fiasco that morning with the telephone, he thought it was probably best to assume someone was always watching.</p><p>He sat on his heels with his back to the shed wall, his teeth clenched in frustration. Although his brown leather jacket and blue jeans weren't bright, they certainly weren't camouflaged.</p><p>He wondered how much undergrowth was around. A wise landowner with forested property would keep the undergrowth around the buildings cut back to reduce the risk of fire. If he was lucky, the owner of this place hadn't been so careful. Using the broomstick, he reached out along the ground, moving the long stick slowly to learn what was close. He quickly found several tree trunks and a bush. The tree trunks weren't thick, and didn't have any branches this low, but the bush would provide plenty of cover. He worked himself around behind it until the bush was between himself and the place he judged the other building to be.</p><p>Moving slowly and quietly so as not to attract any attention, Mac reached out again with the broomstick, keeping it low to the ground. More brush and trees off to his right gave him his next move. Obviously he was circling around the outside perimeter of the cleared ground. The sound of the lake water grew closer, but he ignored it for the time being, until he discovered another problem. A cleared path from the house to the lake meant that the underbrush providing cover for Mac had a wide gap that he had to cross.</p><p>Rather than making a dash for it, he moved instead more to his right, toward the lake and farther away from the clearing where the house sat. The path to the lake curved, which meant that he finally felt safe to cross it since the bushes closer to the clearing would shield him.</p><p>Each time he moved, his heart pounded, sometimes sounding so loud in his own ears that he wondered if he'd be able to hear any pursuit.</p><p>It took him maybe an hour to cautiously make his way to the spot where he could feel the presence of a large, blank wall just out of reach.</p><p>On and off during the past hour, Puck had alternately barked and whined, and MacGyver silently encouraged him to keep it up, since he used the sound as a beacon to guide his movements.</p><p>Just as he neared the wall, still behind a thick tangle of leafy undergrowth, a screen door on the other side of the building squeaked open, and then banged shut again. Footsteps pounded down three steps and then half-walked, half jogged across the clearing to one of the cars. A door opened; there was silence for three heart-stopping seconds; then the car door slammed.</p><p>Puck's manic barking intensified. The footsteps, which had been heading back toward the door of the house, changed direction and approached the sound of barking and the spot where MacGyver hid, unmoving.</p><p>The man didn't come toward Mac, but began kicking a hollow-sounding piece of wood with a heavy work boot.</p><p>"Shut up, you dumb dog," he growled, and kicked again for good measure. Then he turned to retrace his steps back to the front door.</p><p>Mac frowned, wondering what the hollow wooden thing was that held his wonderful, amazing, intelligent dog. The man had not used his toe, Mac was sure. The sole of the boot had stamped on the wood. He had only gotten a second to listen between Puck's furious barks and growls.</p><p>Once the man was gone, Mac slid from his bush up to the wall and worked his way along the end of the house, growing closer and closer to the noise of the dog.</p><p>His right foot struck something, sending a shiver of pain up his injured leg. Bending down to touch it, his hand found a sloping wooden lid, and it clicked in his head: an outdoor cellar! That's what the man had been kicking, and that's what contained an outraged German Shepherd.</p><p>Mac crouched on his heels in front of the sloped doors. He ran his left hand along the surface, looking for a crack that joined two doors or perhaps a solid single door with hinges at the top. It turned out to be two, and he felt up and down the crack between the two doors looking for a latch or lock or bar.</p><p>As he had suspected, a hasp and padlock about halfway down held the doors securely closed. Mac pulled the wire cutters from his jacket pocket. The lock itself was far too sturdy to cut, but the hasp wasn't. Still, it wasn't going to be easy. Using the snips, Mac twisted and tugged and squeezed the handles as hard as he could and at last the metal gave way. Leaving the padlock where it was, he swung back the left door. A furry explosion burst out and began swiping Mac's face with his wet sandpaper tongue.</p><p>"Whoa, there!" Mac held his hands up to ward off the slime.</p><p>Just then, the screen door resounded a warning. Mac's mouth went dry. He wanted to smack himself. Of course they would know he let Puck loose because the barking had stopped. The only option left to him was to run.</p><p>Puck's harness was nowhere to be found. He didn't have a leash or even a collar.</p><p>As several sets of feet pounded toward them around the building, Puck took off, running toward the lake.</p><p>Using the broomstick to feel his way and find the path, Mac followed him.</p><p>The sound of a pistol being fired nearly brought his heart into his mouth, and the bullet whizzed past his right ear.</p><p>His broomstick cane felt the springy resistance that meant Mac had found a bush. This must be where the path curves, he thought. Swinging the stick to his right confirmed that the way there was clear.</p><p>The footsteps grew closer behind him. The gun fired again, and Mac felt an instant white-hot ribbon of pain tear through his left thigh, searing muscles and nerves as it pierced a path through his flesh. He cried out with pain.</p><p>His knee buckled and he nearly went down but his momentum drove him onto his right leg, and then through another few steps.</p><p>He felt the brush of Puck's body running past his knees; running back toward their pursuers, an ominous warning growl beginning deep in his throat.</p><p>Puck, as a guide dog, was bred to be docile and friendly; he wasn't bred or trained for any sort of guard work or protection of Mac. Still, for all that, when Mac yelled, all of his protective instinct, inside him from generation before generation of Shepherds, rose up inside him and drove him back to stand between the master he loved and the men trying to kill that master. Puck braced his legs, teeth bared, hackles up, a terrifying growl emanating past those sharp teeth.</p><p>The men paused, not long but just long enough. The gun fired again, and Mac felt as though cold water poured over him. Had they hit Puck?</p><p>He could not stop to find out.</p><p>Just as his knees really began to give way, he stumbled headlong into the lake. The bank dropped off fairly steeply where he had entered just to the left of the wooden dock.</p><p>Mac threw himself face-down in the water, using his arms to pull himself down as far as he could toward the silty bottom and away from the surface where another bullet could end him.</p><p>A bullet did whistle through the water just to his left, but it didn't hit him.</p><p>He stayed down under the murky water feeling desperately for the pilings or cables under the dock, his lungs aching. It felt like years before he found them although in reality it probably only took about fifteen seconds.</p><p>He pulled himself under the dock and surfaced to breathe, his head bumping the underside of the board platform.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Chapter 16</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter 16</p><p>As Mac waited, treading water, his head between two of the large logs that served as floats for the small dock, he heard a splash in the water just where he had gone in. It wasn’t a person; it was Puck. Mac’s eyes closed briefly in relief, then he took a big lungful of air and dived under the murky water. He heard and felt the movement of the swimming dog and headed for it, hoping that no stray bullets would find them. When he found Puck, he reached up past the churning feet to his body and then his neck. He pulled the dog’s head down under the surface of the water: their only defense at the moment. </p><p>Puck, frightened, twisted and thrashed. Once his kicking hind legs hit Mac’s thigh where the bullet wound was and Mac felt dizzy from the pain. </p><p>The thing that saved them was Mac’s feet coming in contact with the silty bottom and thus steadying him. He dodged the pace or two back under the dock and allowed both their heads to come up under it. Puck, once he could breathe, calmed down and put his forepaws on Mac’s shoulders. Mac held the dog’s body as securely as he could in order to calm the animal and hopefully keep him from splashing much. </p><p>The three men had now reached the edge of the lake; they stood not four feet from where MacGyver huddled beneath the dock. </p><p>“Should I go in? He can’t be far,” commented Mr. Driver. </p><p>“Nah,” responded Frank easily. “There’s nowhere for him to go. Pretty sure Marty hit him too. He’s not gonna last long out there.”</p><p>The three turned and walked back up the path to the house. </p><p>Once their footsteps had receded, Mac let out a long, slow breath. He stayed still for another ten minutes, just in case the men had cleverly left behind someone who was standing quietly, waiting for him to resurface. </p><p>Just as he was about to move, he heard a sigh and a muttered curse. Mac’s hands, cradling Puck, clenched on the dog’s fur. He’d been right, but had almost lost the cat-and-mouse game. The last man finally turned and made his way back up the path. The water lapping on the logs of the dock and the breeze in the tops of the trees were the only remaining sounds. </p><p>Mac knew he had to get out of the lake water as soon as possible. While the cold was good for the bullet wound, the contaminants in the water certainly were not, and he had no way to stop the flow of blood. Even now, he was beginning to feel slightly dizzy. </p><p>Choosing his moment to move, he ducked under the logs on the right side of the dock, away from the path, pulling Puck with him. As his head broke the surface of the lake, a shaft of sunlight hit him straight in the face, illuminating his vision with brilliant white light. He was surprised how low the angle was, and wondered if it could really be the evening of the same day in which he’d awoken in a motel in Missoula. </p><p>He released Puck, and the two moved through the shallows of the lake along the shore away from the house and tool shed. Puck, sensing Mac’s injury, stayed close by his side. </p><p>Although Mac wanted to get as far away as possible, he was rapidly losing strength. He was having trouble thinking and his head felt fuzzy. He supposed that behind the scars on his corneas his vision was blurring but there was no way to know for sure. </p><p>A log and a tangle of brush extending out into the lake made the decision for him. He simply did not have the strength to continue. He crawled onto the shore where a rocky beach gave way to pebbles and sand, and then a dirt bank rise steeply about three feet. The fallen tree slopes down from this bank, and bushes grew thickly around it. Mac crawled in under the log, laying on the sand with his back to the dirt bank. Puck snuggled in next to him. </p><p>Fighting desperately to stay conscious, Mac tore some more of his undershirt off in two wide strips and did his best to bandage his leg where the bullet had penetrated. </p><p>Then he surrendered to the overwhelming dizziness and slept. </p><p>***</p><p>When he woke, it was dark, and chilly. His clothes, mostly dry now, seemed to stick to him, but provided no warmth and the night air, summer though it was, held little warmth. The only warmth came from Puck, pressed up against his left side, and the fact that his bush-covered log shelter was so small. The bullet wound in his leg had begun to throb. He moaned quietly. </p><p>*** </p><p>He woke again to full sunlight. The chill of the night had gone, but a new nuisance replaced the cold: mosquitoes. The hum of hundreds of insects filled the air next to the edge of the lake, where little pools of stagnant water housed algae and colonies of noxious insects, who seemed to have discovered his skin as a tasty feast. </p><p>“You can’t have my blood,” he told them weakly. “I don’t have enough as it is.”</p><p>He realized that it wasn’t the bugs that had awoken him; it was thirst. He raised his head, and a rush of dizziness and nausea overtook him. He retched, but since the last meal he’d eaten was the granola at the restaurant a day and a half ago, nothing came up. </p><p>He laid his head back again with a sigh. With his left hand, he explored the bandage around his leg. It was crusted with dried blood but there did not seem to be any fresh blood, so that was good. </p><p>At this moment he realized Puck was not beside him any longer. He thought vaguely that it could be a bad idea for Puck to run off, but even that thought felt like too much work, and he succumbed to sleep once again. </p><p>***</p><p>It was dark again the next time he woke and chilly again, although not as bad as the previous night. Puck was back, huddled in a bony ball, tucked up against Mac. This time the thirst felt unbearable. He had to get some water. Rather than raising his head this time, he rolled gingerly toward his left side, the bullet wound in his thigh shrieking a protest in his brain. </p><p>At his movement, Puck leapt to his feet and slid out from under their brushy hideout. Mac followed more gingerly, pulling himself along with his elbows, both injured legs mostly dragging along behind him. As he got onto the rocky beach it became harder to move, but the nearly insane thirst drove him on. After a few more agonizing feet, he reached the edge of the lake where the water was cleaner. Putting his face to the water, he sucked it up greedily. Too greedily, as it turned out. A lot of it did not stay down. But he drank some more anyway, and then turned and laboriously crawled back to his spot under the fallen log. Puck nestled in beside him and again he slept. </p><p>***</p><p>He woke again as the daylight of another day was fading. The days had begun to blur together and he wasn’t sure how long it had been since he had been shot. </p><p>Still, today his head was a little clearer, and he began to take stock. The facts were dismal. He was alone with a dog in the middle of the vast Montana forests with a cabin full of criminals maybe 500 yards to the north. His shin and hand ha flesh wounds, and his left thigh held a bullet hole that was almost certainly infected. He had no food and no supplies. Oh, and he was blind. </p><p>Those were not encouraging circumstances, but Mac’s usual pragmatism and optimism came to his rescue. There were positives about his situation, such as: he was still alive. There was drinking water near. He hadn’t been recaptured. Well, not yet, anyway. He checked his pockets. Yes, his knife was there. He also still had the wire cutters in his jacket pocket. </p><p>As the darkness deepened, Mac rolled out from under the log on the other side this time, farther away from the dock and the house. Working while laying on his back felt awkward, but his leg had stiffened so that he couldn’t move it. The wound had swollen and begun to ooze. </p><p>Mac opened his knife and began trimming away sticks from the bushes that had housed him. He also cut a strip of bark from the tree trunk itself and worked on scraping loose its soft, fibrous inner layer. He laid his sticks in a pile and the fluff from the bark in another pile. </p><p>While Puck watched with interest, Mac began to sort through the stones on the beach, fingering each one. Most were plain chunks of granite, their corners rounded by the motion of the water. At last, he found one that had a broken side and the edge left by the break felt as sharp as a knife blade. Mac smiled with satisfaction even though the wound in his leg made him catch his breath in pain each time he moved. </p><p>With the piece of flint in one hand and his steel knife in the other, he struck a spark over the pile of fluff. </p><p>Over and over he struck, the sparks he produced flashing brightly enough even he could see them. He couldn’t see when the fluff caught, but he could smell it! Carefully, he took the pile of sticks, choosing the smallest and driest to set onto the tiny, struggling flame. </p><p>It was not enough and the minuscule fire died down and went out. Holding his hands above the pile, he felt no warmth. </p><p>Patiently, he started over, gritting his teeth against the dizziness and pain. At last he had a small but stable blaze burning. He took the wire cutters and laid their closed tips in the fire he’d built. </p><p>He tried not to think about what was coming next as he gingerly peeled the bandage away from the wound. He didn’t want to cut away his jeans, but his leg was too stiff to get them off. He sliced away a section revealing the entry and exit wounds, noticing the smell of infection. He grimaced. </p><p>With the fire-heated tips of the wire cutters, he cauterized the wounds, then re-bandaged it with the remains of his undershirt. He thanked fate or whatever had prompted him to put on a sweatshirt and his leather jacket even though it was summer. A habit of dressing in layers had most likely saved his life the last few days. </p><p>The effort it took for his first aid treatments had depleted his meager energy reserves, and he didn’t even go get a drink of water, but after scattering the burning sticks and covering them with sand, he crawled under his log and fell asleep, with Puck snuggled beside him for warmth. </p><p>***</p><p>The next morning, he woke, knowing something was wrong. Beside him, Puck’s head was up, his antenna ears perked. Mac put a hand on him hoping he would be quiet and still as the voices of Fist’s men drew closer, their feet scraping on the rocks of the lakeshore. A low growl started deep in Puck’s chest, and Mac held him more tightly. </p><p>“I tell you, he is dead by now,” came the voice of Mr. Gun. </p><p>“Show me the body, Marty, and I’ll agree with you,” Frank replied. </p><p>“Well, he isn’t here,” argued Marty. “We’ve looked twice and no footprints, nothing. Besides if the dog was with him, it’d bark.”</p><p>Frank didn’t reply to this but had begun leading the way off the beach into the undergrowth of the woods. The other two followed. </p><p>“This is dumb,” Mr. Gun, aka Marty, grumbled. “We shoulda left yesterday. We did everything here and I’m ready to get back to civilization.”</p><p>“Fist doesn’t like loose ends,” replied Mr. Driver shortly.</p><p>“But we’re not…” Marty continued, when Frank stopped and rounded on him. </p><p>“You want to be the one to tell Fist that we left a Phoenix Foundation guy up here?” He asked in a raised voice. </p><p>Marty’s voice raised also. “I’ll tell Fist I shot him, and that there’s nothing around here for like a zillion miles, so he’s dead. Now, let’s get back to the real work. Fist will be more upset if we’re late meeting our dear friend Ben.”</p><p>“Ronaldez is a chump,” put in Mr. Driver unhelpfully. </p><p>“But a chump who won’t be in the States much longer,” replied Marty. The voices of the three men began to fade as they pushed their way through the trees and brush, away from Mac’s hiding place.  </p><p>“Well, we can’t bring him here, not without knowing if the Phoenix guy is really dead,” Frank replied angrily. “We don’t have a good place to take him if this place is messed up.”</p><p>“What about that cave?” asked Marty. </p><p>“Hmm,” Frank said, but Mac didn’t catch the rest of the conversation, as the speakers were too far away. </p><p>Puck still stayed tense and watchful, but Mac lay back on the rocky sand trying to ignore the pain in his leg and the chill from within his own feverish body. He tried to focus on what he’d just heard. </p><p>Benjamin Ronaldez was the US ambassador to the Philippines. Just a year and a half ago, he had lived through hell as the country had erupted in a violent series of protests, resulting in the overturn of their dictator. Now, things were quieter, but the economy had tanked, leaving massive amounts of unease. </p><p>Mac imagined, if there was someone seeking power, he might be willing to pay a mercenary like Fist for American-owned guns to stir things up again. And if the American ambassador was out of the way, so much the better. </p><p>It sounded like that was exactly what Fist had in mind, but what would they do with the Ambassador? Not kill him; he was too valuable an asset alive. </p><p>Marty had mentioned a cave. Did he mean the one on Elevator Mountain where the guns had been stashed?</p><p>Mac’s head began to swim again. He was thirsty but too exhausted to try to get water; besides the three men might return. His stomach ached with hunger. </p><p>He fell asleep.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Chapter 17</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter 17</p><p>Sometime later, he half-woke, listening to the sound of car doors slamming and the starting of engines. The cars pulled out down the rutted, gravel driveway, and then all was quiet again. His head lay weakly back on the sand. Puck was gone, off hunting for food or chasing something; Mac didn't know and really didn't care. He needed water; he knew his body desperately needed water, but he couldn't summon enough energy to crawl to the lake. Besides the fact that he didn't know who still remained at the cabin looking for him. He drifted off again.</p><p>He woke briefly when Puck came back, then slept again until sometime in the middle of the night. His body ached with the pain of thirst, hunger, infection and fever and he had to bite his lip in order to not moan aloud.</p><p>A few moments later, he was glad he had stayed silent, because he heard footsteps above him and to his right. Someone was picking their way cautiously through the forest. No, it was several people. By his side, Puck tensed.</p><p>Mac felt a strange sense of relief. If they found him and shot him, at least the pain would be over.</p><p>The footsteps moved closer, accompanied by an odd beeping noise that Mac's foggy brain struggled to place. He'd heard it before but at this point the effort it took to remember was too much for his tired mind.</p><p>Puck, on the other hand, seemed to care significantly. He rose and pushed his way out from under the bush where Mac lay and disappeared up the hill. Mac wanted to call him back, but his dry mouth refused to make a sound.</p><p>There were quiet voices and the footsteps grew closer.</p><p>Suddenly, Puck nosed his way under the bush toward Mac, then retreated to the beach where rocks grated under booted feet. Puck danced between the boots and Mac, and Mac gave a sigh. He supposed this was it. He was done.</p><p>"MacGyver?" a whispered voice sounded unnaturally close to Mac's ear. It sounded like Pete's voice, but that couldn't be right. He was hallucinating. The fever evidently had climbed so high that he was delirious. He wouldn't answer. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction.</p><p>Puck nosed his way under the bush again, and hands pulled it aside. The beam of a flashlight lit up Mac's vision and he squinted in pain.</p><p>"MacGyver!" the voice said in an exultant whisper. "Thanks be, we found you!"</p><p>Mac rolled his head to the other side, refusing to believe that the person speaking was Pete, even though it sounded like him. He mentally braced himself for the gunshot that would end his life.</p><p>Instead, several pairs of gentle hands grasped his arms and shoulders and began sliding him from his hiding place. Mac put up a feeble gesture to stop them, but they were many more than him and stronger. Soon, they had him out on the beach and the intensely bright beam of the flashlight was alternately on his face and off of it, glowing as it traced his body.</p><p>"He's in bad shape," another voice said in a low undertone. "How will we get him out of here?"</p><p>"The backboard," said another voice.</p><p>"This looks nasty," said the voice that sounded like Pete, and fingers lightly touched the burned flesh on his upper thigh.</p><p>One of the voices crashed off through the trees again. Another set bundles on the ground, and Mac heard the high-pitched whine of a zipper opening. There were rustlings and the cracklings of paper, as well as liquid sounds. Then, a feeling of fire ripped through his wounded leg, and he moaned.</p><p>"Shh," instructed the Pete voice. "It's alcohol to kill the infection."</p><p>More fire blossomed on his right shinbone, and Mac grimaced. Puck, laying beside Mac, whined.</p><p>"Can you drink this?" asked the Pete voice, as the metal lip of a canteen was held to Mac's mouth. He tried to swallow, but it came fast and he gagged. Someone lifted his head and gave him another, slower sip that worked better.</p><p>"I'd better kill the light," said a voice. "Someone might see us down here. It would be nice to get out of this without a fire fight."</p><p>"Agreed," said someone, and inside Mac's head, he also agreed.</p><p>In the dark, hands began loosely wrapping bandages around Mac's wound. While they were doing this, another person came down from the trees. Everyone began to move around, picking up bundles and closing zippers.</p><p>After circling Mac for several incoherent minutes, the Pete voice said, "ready? On three. One, two three."</p><p>Many pairs of hands grasped parts of Mac's body and hoisted him quickly onto what felt like cold concrete. When they began strapping him down, however, he realized it was a wooden rescue board. They quickly had him secured, in what had to be the least comfortable position Mac had ever endured in his life. There was a rustle of hoisted packs, and then his board was also hoisted by the handles along the sides.</p><p>As the people carrying him began to move, he felt his weight shifting from side to side against the restraining straps. Going up the hill was agony as his weight sagged toward his feet. Involuntarily he let out a moan, and felt Puck's wet nose against his hand in a gesture of silent sympathy.</p><p>The path through the forest was a string of moments, each following the next, each utter agony as bushed clawed at him, the restraints bit into him and the hard board pressed on his spine.</p><p>After maybe thirty minutes of this torture, the men who carried him felt freer to talk aloud.</p><p>"We should hit the road soon," one said.</p><p>"I'd have thought by now we would have gotten there," another answered.</p><p>One of the people carrying Mac tripped on something, and there was a jolt and a curse. "I hate the dark," said the voice belonging to someone who sounded like Pete.</p><p>"You ok, Boss?" asked one of the other men.</p><p>"Yeah, I'm fine," came the terse reply.</p><p>It was in that moment that MacGyver's foggy brain finally accepted that yes, this was indeed Pete. How he had come to be in the middle of the Montana wilderness, Mac had no idea. The fact that he would come at all, with his numerous responsibilities and his own faltering eyesight, but somehow, here he was.</p><p>"Finally, the road," said one of the others in relief.</p><p>Mac's ride became smoother after that, and it wasn't long until they arrived at… somewhere and set him down.</p><p>Mac slipped in and out of a hazy unconsciousness as one of the men with Pete gave him a quick but thorough triage.</p><p>"No broken bones," the man muttered. "Spine appears to be fine. High fever. Massive infection and burns in left leg. Probably a lot of blood loss. Partially healed flesh wounds in right leg and right hand, also showing signs of infection. Dehydration."</p><p>As Mac listened to the laundry list of injuries, he realized he was pretty lucky to still be alive and semi-conscious.</p><p>Since his spine was uninjured, the group decided to unstrap him from the board, to his great relief. He was given a few more sips of water, and lifted as gently as they could into the seat of a vehicle. Being placed in a reclining but upright position made the dizziness swallow him and he lost consciousness.</p><p>He slid awake again to the sound of tires whining on pavement. There was slightly more light in general, which led Mac to guess that another morning had come at last.</p><p>Fighting the dizziness that tickled the corners of his brain, he took a rasping breath, and with dry, cracked lips, he said, "Pete?"</p><p>"MacGyver!" Pete enthused from the seat next to him. "You're awake!"</p><p>His heartiness made Mac wince slightly.</p><p>"Why…how…" Mac was having trouble forming his question into words.</p><p>"I'll explain it all later, once we get you safely into a hospital," Pete assured him. Mac thought vaguely that there was something wrong with this plan, but couldn't grasp the thought.</p><p>"Where?" He began again, but before he could hear Pete's answer, he slipped away again.</p><p>They were moving him the next time he awoke. The hospital gurney felt quite a bit softer than the rescue board, but it was so narrow and he felt so dizzy, he felt every second that he would fall off.</p><p>It was with great relief that they transferred him to a bed and he heard rails slide into place. The field medic who had treated him began to give his assessment of Mac's condition to the nurse that started triage.</p><p>She listened, and then lifted his lids to shine a light into his eyes, but recoiled at the scars.</p><p>"What happened to his eyes?" she asked, and listened again to the medic's explanation. "So he was blind before he got hurt?" she asked incredulously. "What was he doing out in the woods?"</p><p>The conversation drifted and swirled around Mac. At one point, the nurse asked him if he knew his name. He did, but the answer stayed in his head and refused to be spoken aloud.</p><p>The sting of a needle punctured his left forearm, and he supposed that they were attempting to hydrate him.</p><p>He fell asleep again.</p><p>When he next woke, he discovered that his head felt much clearer.</p><p>Someone shifted in the chair next to the bed.</p><p>"Mac? You awake?" Pete asked with concern.</p><p>"Pete," Mac croaked, his dry lips splitting as he smiled.</p><p>"Wow, you were really out of it for a while there, Buddy," Pete told him. "They had to give you two liters of blood."</p><p>"I'm guessing that's a lot?" Mac asked, grinning.</p><p>"Well between that and the fever, it was hard to keep you with us for a while there." Pete's tone was light, masking the concern he felt for his friend.</p><p>"How did you know where to look for me?" Mac finally asked the question that had been uppermost on his mind since the rescue.</p><p>"Well, when your call hung up so abruptly, we suspected you were in trouble," Pete began, and Mac curbed his impatience. Pete would tell the story in his own good time. "I assembled this team of agents and decided to come myself to look for you. We thought we'd start with Missoula since that was your last known location."</p><p>Mac nodded slightly. It made sense.</p><p>"It was then that we really got lucky. Turns out you still had a couple of those salmon tracker pellets in your pocket. We found the radio signal and traced you to the property. It's owned by some east coast big-wig who only comes out for vacation once a year or so. Well, apparently your 'friends' decided to use it as a temporary headquarters in the meantime."</p><p>Mac was smiling again. "Those salmon trackers sure have come in handy," he commented. "I thought I had a couple of leftover Ibuprofen in my pocket. Good thing I hadn't gotten around to washing my jeans."</p><p>Pete resumed his story. "We checked with the neighbors who reported unusual activity in the area. We figured we'd have to get you out as quietly as possible, which is why we went in at night. Not my favorite gig."</p><p>Mac turned toward his friend. "How are your eyes doing, Pete?"</p><p>"I guess I'm thankful for what I still have," Pete replied slowly. "I have a lot of blind spots and it's hard to see at night. But I wanted to come get you personally. These guys you're dealing with aren't messing around."</p><p>"Thanks, Pete," Mac said, wishing he could let his friend know how much it meant to him that he came.</p><p>"So what have you learned so far?" Pete asked reluctantly. He hated to drill down Mac when he was hurt so badly, but with the situation in the Philippines such a tinder box, time was essential.</p><p>"I told you about the shipments of guns, and the boss, Fist," Mac started.</p><p>"Yeah, we looked into him. Since you don't have his real name, we couldn't find anything," Pete said.</p><p>"While I was at the vacation house, they mentioned the Ambassador," Mac said, trying to remember and feeling the fatigue pulling at him again.</p><p>"The Ambassador to the Philippines?" asked Pete.</p><p>"Yeah, I'm having trouble remembering," Mac admitted.</p><p>"Tell you what," Pete said. "You get some rest and heal up. I'll look into this deeper on our end."</p><p>"Okay," Mac agreed with a tired sigh.</p><p>"One question though," Pete added. "Where did the burn on your leg come from?"</p><p>Mac briefly explained the gunshot, the contaminated lake water and his attempts to cauterize the wound.</p><p>"Ouch," was Pete's only comment.</p><p>As he went into the hall, Mac could hear low voices as Pete asked the doctor for an update. Mac could only pick out a few words: "infection… sepsis… antibiotics." Those did not sound good but Mac once again felt too tired to care.</p>
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